


Flash Point

by SunshineBlueEyesTanlines



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dog Fighting, Durincest, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fluff, Fíli Angst, Fíli Needs a Hug, Gen, Hurt Fíli, Hurt/Comfort, Hybrids, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Slavery, Stockholm Syndrome, Underage Sex, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-03-13 16:41:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3388853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunshineBlueEyesTanlines/pseuds/SunshineBlueEyesTanlines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fíli is a volatile creature born wild and made indomitable by black magic. He's a hurricane with a steel collar, and Kíli thinks he's never seen something so beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day starts off like any other and ends like nothing before.

Kíli knows the moment they step foot into the cave that something isn't quite right. For all intents and purposes, it is what it appears to be - a cave - but he can sense something off about the atmosphere. There's a spark to it, like the sting of ozone in the air before a thunderstorm. Despite his unease, he sprawls out between his mother and uncle and allows the roaring snores of his companions to lull him to sleep.

He dreams of the Blue Mountains and skies dark with summer storm clouds. Sheets of heavy rain begin to fall from overhead as he runs through the long sweet grass, soaked to the bone with his boots full of water and a grin on his face.

Thunder booms around him and his eyes are open. Gnarled hands grab at him, pulling at his clothes and dragging him across the dusty stone floor. The shouts of the company, like _thunder_ , echo through the cave and the hidden tunnel they are being forced into. They're pushed and shoved deep into the bowels of the earth, surrounded on all sides by oily little bodies.

They come into a massive chamber lit only by burning torches. Intricate networks of walkways hang above and below them like wooden spiderwebs, crawling with goblins. Their shrieks pierce the air in something like a song, though the words are barely intelligible between the clash of countless off-key voices. The only source of true language is the hulking beast of a goblin seated on a throne before them, situated atop a towering platform. His grotesque maw gapes as he roars his song to the captives, overly large eyes following their progress from his perch.

The company is forced to a halt as the song reaches its end. The chief stomps his blocky feet and swings his staff, resulting in the senseless impaling of a nearby goblin. The company and their captors duck as the staff swings over them, not in threat, but in dance. The Great Goblin ceases his strange waltz and climbs back into his makeshift throne, using the stacked, prostrate bodies of a few poor goblins as a step stool. They squeal helplessly beneath his massive weight.

"Catchy, isn't it?" he inquires as he settles into his seat, a distinct note of pride in his guttural voice. "It's one of my own compositions."

"That's not a _song_ ," Balin shouts, disgusted by the show. "It's an _abomination_!"

"Abominations, mutations, deviations," the Great Goblin drawls, raising his meaty hands. "That's all you'll find down here."

A goblin guard steps forward to empty the company's detained weapons on the floor, steel clattering loudly in the brief quiet. The dwarves look on longingly, but otherwise remain unresponsive.

"Who would be so bold as to come armed into  _my_ kingdom?" the Great Goblin sneers, leaning in close to eye them suspiciously. "Spies? Thieves? _Assassins_?"

" _Dwarves_ , your malevolence," a goblin underling says through a mouthful of rat-like fangs.

" _Dwarves_?" the chief echoes, as if in disbelief.

"We found them on the Front Porch."

"Well, don't just stand there, Bogs," the Great Goblin snaps, lips curling in distaste. "Search them! Every  _crack_ , every  _crevice_."

The goblins startle and rush to obey, squirreling their crafty little hands into coats and trousers. The dwarves complain loudly as their bags are emptied and their belongings tarnished upon the bridge. One goes so far as to snatch away Óin's ear trumpet and flatten it beneath its booted foot.

"It is my belief," Bogs begins, holding up a gold candelabra, "that they are in league with  _Elves_!"

The Great Goblin snatches the treasure away from his subordinate and studies it critically.

"Made in Rivendell?" he balks rudely. He turns it in his hands before he exclaims, "Bah, Second Age. Couldn't  _give_ it away!" and tosses it over his shoulder like garbage.

Dori turns to glare at Nori, who has the decency to look guilty.

"Just a couple of keepsakes," he says sheepishly.

"What are you doing in these parts?" the Great Goblin inquires, fixing them with bulging eyes.

Thorin steps forward, looking murderous, but Óin grabs him and pulls him back, shooting him a glare of warning.

"Ah, don't worry, lads," he says, squeezing Thorin's shoulder. "I'll handle this."

"No tricks!" the goblin chief says over the concerned murmuring of the dwarves. "I want the  _truth_ , warts and all."

"You're going to have to speak up," Óin says flippantly as he holds up his ear trumpet, a bold expression on his weathered face. "Your boys flattened my trumpet."

"I'll flatten more than your trumpet!" the Great Goblin booms, lunging off his throne to swat their discarded belongings aside. The company recoils collectively in alarm.

"If it's more information you're wanting," Bofur blurts, eyes wide, " _I'm_ the one you should speak to."

The Great Goblin pauses, staff extended threateningly. He scowls deeply and hums in consideration, watching Bofur with a piercing gaze until he proves his worth.

"We were on the road - well, it's not so much a road as a path. Actually, it's not even that, come to think of it. It's more like a track." Bofur pauses for a moment, considering his words. "Anyway, the point is, we were on this road, like a path, like a track, and then we  _weren't_ , which is a problem because we were supposed to be in Dunland last Tuesday."

Bofur turns to shoot the company a desperate glance, and they hastily jump to contribute to the story. The Great Goblin squeezes his eyes shut as the dwarves prattle on about this or that, muttering obscenities beneath his putrid breath. When he's heard enough of the blatantly fabricated tale, he slams his staff down on the bridge, making it shudder ominously.

"SHUT UP!" he roars, causing the lesser goblins to skitter away and cry out in fear. "If they will not talk," he continues in a more reasonable tone, waving one thick finger that them, "we'll make them  _squawk_!"

The spectators above them shout their approval, and the Great Goblin turns to glare down at the company. His bug-like eyes glint in glee at the apprehension on their faces, and his drooling mouth curls into a delighted sneer when every one of them remains stubbornly silent.

"Hm," the goblin chief grunts, stroking the fatty pouches of his chin appraisingly. "I suppose I'll have to show you exactly what happens to those who refuse to obey me. To the Pit with them."

He snaps his fingers and Bogs immediately darts forward, brandishing a small magic staff. When they don't move, he stabs at Balin, the nearest dwarf, who yelps as he's briefly electrocuted. Spurred on by the realization that they are at a disadvantage, the company reluctantly allows the scrawny creature to herd them along, trailing after the Great Goblin's substantial form. Their trek through the winding tunnel is silent save for the goblin chief's laborious grunts.

"You're in for a treat," he says with a sly smile. "Jukkhag is here tonight."

The dwarves exchange bewildered glances, but otherwise remain silent. The initial fear is that this Jukkhag is going to be inflicting some kind of pain upon them, but as they're led into yet another cave, this one smaller than the last, they begin to think otherwise. They're stuffed into some sort of private seating box overlooking a deep pit. There's a massive crowd surrounding the arena below them, comprised of orcs of all breeds gulping honey mead and exchanging sacks heavy with coin.

The Great Goblin extends a stocky hand and Bogs forces the company to kneel, waving his staff threateningly. They look down into the Pit where a Moria orc stands, speaking with a native goblin. At his feet, a tiny form huddles, naked save for a pair of threadbare grey smalls and a leather harness that wraps around its shoulders and across its back. Its hair falls down the length of its spine in a thick brown stream, shielding only a very small portion of the extensive scars marring its dark, filthy skin. When it shifts, steel and gold flashes at its throat.

"Such a beautiful creature," the Great Goblin remarks absently, and Bogs nods in agreement.

"Gorgeous specimen," the scrawny goblin says, twitching anxiously.

The air suddenly grows electric. Down in the Pit, the Moria orc and goblin guard retreat through a small passageway to the left, leaving the strange creature sitting alone. A massive steel door slams down behind them, blocking the exit, while one of the identical doors situated on the opposite side of the arena slides open. The voices of the spectators grow louder, shouting for blood, and reach a climax as a large form slinks from the open kennel.

The company watches in horror as a warg is released into the pit. Its body is long and powerful, thick with muscle coiled tight and ready to attack. It curls its lips back to display frightening fangs dripping with saliva and raises its hackles high to intimidate its opponent. Its black eyes shine with a hunger that surpasses even that of the spectators.

The small creature crouching in the center of the pit finally shifts. It stands and lifts its head to reveal itself to be a male dwarf, though the lack of body hair and sheer thinness of his minuscule frame is not seen in their kind. A heavy steel collar wraps around his throat alongside a thin gold chain on which a matching pendant of unidentifiable design hangs. He lifts a clawed hand to reach beneath the opposite arm, fingering the holster that hangs from his harness there.

The warg gives a great bark and lunges, extending massive paws. Its prey darts away with surprising speed and produces a set of steel punch knives from the holster, sliding them into place between the slender fingers of his right hand. He curls his full lips back in a snarl that matches the warg's own, blue eyes burning and fangs flashing.

Snarling in rage, the warg spins and takes a swipe at him, sharp claws threatening his tender abdomen. He jumps back to avoid having his stomach ripped open and darts in to grab the beast by the neck as its body turns into its attack. He swings himself up onto its back and pulls his arm back to deliver a powerful blow to the side of its neck. The punch knives easily penetrate thick fur and flesh, sending blood misting across his face.

The canine-like monster howls in pain and bucks to throw its opponent off its back. The dwarf goes flying and lands hard on his front, his breath exploding from his lungs in one great huff. He turns onto his backside and the warg makes its move, leaping at him and opening its jaw to take his throat. He throws his legs up to catch it between his knees, locking his thighs around its neck. It snaps massive teeth at him, folding him in half with its greater weight.

The dwarf twists around with a violent burst of strength, throwing the predator onto its side, and takes the chance to put some distance between them. The warg eats it up quickly, long legs agile, and swings a paw with its momentum. He blocks it with his forearm, earning a set of matching claw wounds, and strikes out to lodge his punch knives just beneath its front leg, piercing the tender flesh hidden there.

Roaring in agony, the warg throws itself away from its prey, enraged at his resistance, but the dwarf follows, unrelenting. He throws himself onto his opponent and wraps his legs around its chest as they roll across the ground, keeping it laid out on its back atop him with its vulnerable underbelly exposed. It fights with renewed vigor in an attempt to right itself, but one arm is around its neck and the other around the underside of its muzzle while strong legs hold it tight around its middle. It kicks out its back legs, long claws catching and tearing open his right thigh, sending blood spattering across the dirt.

Snarling wildly, the boy twists around and a sickening crack shatters the atmosphere. The crowd roars its excitement as the warg's body goes limp and the dwarf slides out from beneath it, red-faced and panting. He struggles to his feet, his leg uncooperative with the gaping wounds it sustained, and returns his punch knives to their holster with shaking hands. Sweat, blood, and dirt adds to the filth that already covers him, dripping from the tips of his steel claws.

The company watches, horrified, as the victor stands before the shrieking crowd, fingers curling around his rune collar. The exit door slides open and two goblins race from behind it to haul the warg's corpse away while a third herds the surviving party through the door by waving a torch at him. As soon as the competitors of the first fight are removed, the exit is sealed and different kennels open to release two wargs into the Pit, beginning the second round.

"Enjoying the show, my liege?" a rumbling voice inquires, and the company startles to see the Moria orc from the Pit standing behind them.

The Great Goblin's mouth curls into a lecherous smile, and he invites the orc to sit at his side. His massive body shifts, displaying his blatant arousal tenting his loincloth, and the company recoils in disgust.

"I always do, Jukkhag," he replies, sweat gathering on his upper lip. "I would request to buy your pet, but you consistently reject my every offer."

Jukkhag laughs as he settles in the seat at the Great Goblin's side, shouldering Bogs aside. The twitchy goblin shoots him a dirty look, but moves back to accommodate him.

"It's much more prosperous to keep the little beastie under my thumb," he says with a wide grin, revealing a mouthful of cracked, crooked fangs. "It only sweetens the deal that he's such a good fuck."

They both laugh, taking pleasure in their gambling and blood sport, while the company watches on in repulsion. Having to witness such senseless violence makes them ill, and they all send up individual prayers that they are not destined to end up in the Pit as well. Dwarves are known for their iron spirit and brute strength, but wargs are vicious creatures that will fight to the death if forced to do so.

"Are these ones going in tonight?" Jukkhag inquires, eyeing the dwarves with interest.

"Perhaps tomorrow," the Great Goblin replies, grinning widely. "We have a few things to discuss first."

"Let me know if you'd like Monster down there with them," the orc says, tapping his thick fingers against the arm of his seat. "I have to admit that I've been spoiling him lately. He spends more time warming my bed than fighting."

"I'll be sure to take that into consideration."

"Why are they here anyway?" Jukkhag inquires curiously, tilting his head in the company's direction.

"Trespassing," the goblin chief says, scowling grotesquely. "I questioned them about their intents, but received nothing for my efforts. I reckon a show of the Pit will get their lips flapping."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then they'll make great new toys for your little pet to chew on."

They share another laugh.

"I should be getting back to Monster," Jukkhag says, standing. "I think I'll keep him in your dungeons for now, if you don't mind. As much as I like to mate him right after a good fight, I've got a lot of coin to collect."

"Of course, of course," the Great Goblin exclaims amiably. "He can spend some time with my guests here, get to know them before he slaughters them in the Pit. Though if he needs a good bedding, I'd be happy to-"

"I don't think so." The orc's voice has lost its amiable note. "You lay one finger on him and I'll cut five off."

The Great Goblin holds his hands up in surrender and smiles an oily smile. He knows how Jukkhag runs his business, but that doesn't mean he can't try to find ways around it.

There's a timid knock at the door, and two goblins poke their heads in. The chief waves them in and they retreat for a moment before returning, this time with the fighter - _Monster_ \- between them. They lead him to Jukkhag, who wraps an arm around his pet's slim shoulders and brushes a thumb over his split lip.

"I'll see him to the dungeons," Jukkhag says, shooting the goblin guards a look that betrays his mistrust.

"As you wish," the Great Goblin says, reading his expression. "I'll have my guards and these filthy dwarves follow you."

Jukkhag curls his lip back, but doesn't argue. He turns and exits the viewing box, tucking Monster safely into his side, and the guards close in after him to approach the company. They raise their staffs and force the men to their feet, herding them out the door.

"Ugly little bastards," Thorin mutters, earning himself a brief prod from one of the guards. He rubs his smarting arm and shoots every presence in his line of sight a dirty look.

"Ugly  _and_ stupid," Jukkhag says in a tone that's almost conversational. The guards mimic Thorin's glare, but know better than to dispute the orc. "Why do you think I bring Monster here so often? They're all too simple to realize that he'll always win, even if he's small and pretty. My little moneymaker, he is."

The company glances at Monster, who remains silent. With his back to them, they can't see his face, but they study what they can see, both curious and wary of the fighter. Judging by the amount of scars marring his flesh, consisting primarily of massive bite marks and claw wounds, he's been in the business for awhile, but the heavy collar clasped around his throat makes them think it may not be by choice.

Jukkhag turns into a smaller tunnel that slopes slightly downward. The goblin guards wave their staffs for the company to follow, and they reluctantly obey the unspoken command. They find themselves in a small room plainly furnished with a rickety wooden table and two matching chairs. There is only a single oversized cell, suggesting that this is a private jail of sorts, and there's a long snout poking out from between the bars.

One guard steps forward to unlock the heavy steel door and drag it open, making its occupant growl and back up. It gestures for the dwarves to enter, and when they hesitate to be locked in with the beast, earning a few of them shocks of retribution, they slowly crowd into the cramped space. Their cellmate, a massive warg with charcoal-grey fur and eyes as black as sin, growls at them to warn them away, a command they immediately obey. It lifts its head towards Jukkhag, who throws his arms up.

"Come on, you stupid mutt, get outta there," he snaps, waving the beast over. It reluctantly tucks its tail between its legs and slinks over to sit by Monster's feet. When it leans against his scarred back, it's almost comical due to their difference in heights, but nobody laughs.

Jukkhag sighs and claps his heavy hands down on Monster's narrow shoulders, causing his wounded leg to shake precariously.

"You be good now," he says, leaning down to plant a long kiss on Monster's red mouth. "You've earned yourself a decent meal for that fight, but if I hear you've caused or allowed any trouble while I'm gone, you won't eat for three moons."

Monster accepts a second kiss without complaint, and a broad hand finds his ass to give it an appreciative pat. Jukkhag signals for the goblin guards to follow, and they close the company's cell, locking it securely. They hurry after him and slam the impenetrable entrance door behind them, sealing the fighter and warg in as well.

Jukkhag slides a hand between the hefty bars, beckoning Monster to him. The dwarf obeys without hesitation, well-trained as he is, and stands as close to the orc as the steel barrier separating them will allow. His massive shadow follows, lowering itself to the ground behind Monster and glaring up at Jukkhag sullenly.

"I'll be back for you soon, beautiful," Jukkhag says lowly, reaching out to tug on Monster's long hair in a thinly veiled warning. He reaches into his satchel to produce a leather clutch and a burlap sack, both of which he hands to Monster between the bars. "I think you've earned these as well. Clean yourself up. I want you ready to mount when I return."

Monster dips his head in respect, dirty brown hair spilling over his shoulders, and Jukkhag pats his bruised cheek before disappearing into the corridor, the goblin guards scurrying after him.

 

* * *

 

When Master's footsteps are beyond his range of hearing, Monster sighs faintly and sinks down to sit. He doesn't miss Master so much as he does the security he provides. Master is the only thing that stands between Monster and Pack, between the pain and despair Pack inflicts upon him. He loves Master for it, in a very strange way, because he knows that without that promise of sustenance and safety he offers for correct behavior, Monster would be left to Pack and their cruel, brutish ways.

Mandos whines behind him and scoots closer, curling around his back to rest his massive head on his knee. He extends his long tongue to lap gently at the gaping claw wounds marring his thigh, cleaning away the blood and dirt caked there.

Monster smiles and pets his companion's head affectionately. He leans over to bury his face in the warg's thick grey scruff, sleek fur brushing bruised flesh, and inhales his comfortingly familiar scent. Mandos is the only one who treats him with the most genuine of kindness. Even Master, who provides for him and protects him from Pack, is cruel in his ways.

Pressing a soft kiss to Mandos' wet nose, Monster reaches for Master's leather clutch. He opens it to find a worn handkerchief, a horsehair brush, a curved needle, and a spool of black surgical thread. He pushes his steel claws further up his fingers to more easily thread the needle and begins to sew his wounds closed without hesitation. While the thought alone would make anybody else squirm and sicken, it doesn't both him in the slightest. He is always left to patch up his own injuries, though there are a few isolated incidents during which he can recall Master caring for him. It is no longer a frightening ordeal, but a perfunctory task that must be done.

As he works, he can hear the strange dwarves shuffling around in their cell behind him. They reek of _male_ , though he can detect a single female among their numbers. He thinks it strange that they're present in the first place, and absently wonders if they will face him in the Pit next moon. Rarely does he take on anything but wargs, but when he does, it is because his opponents are being punished for some sort of offense. He is curious to know what crime this lot has committed.

The dwarves begin to whisper amongst themselves, causing Mandos to quirk an ear in their direction. Monster knows they believe he is deaf to them, but his superior hearing allows him to pick up small sounds from a mile away. Their frantic hissing grates on his ears as he ties the last suture and trades the needle for the handkerchief. He begins to blot away the filth from his wounds, staining the cloth immediately.

"He can't be any older than eighty," the female breathes, a distinctly pitying note in her voice. "Aulë, the poor little wretch."

Mandos snarls at her, baring his fangs in warning. The dwarves falls silent, settling for simply watching to avoid provoking the wrath of the warg. Their anxious gazes follow Monster as he slowly uncovers small patches of sun-kissed flesh. Even through the layer of blood, sweat, and soil coating him, they can plainly see that his entire body is heavily scarred and mottled with a timeline of bruises. Massive bite wounds and claw marks blend together in a macabre roadmap of suffering and mindless cruelty, making their stomachs clench at the injustice of it. Strange stripes in a pale fawn stretch across his skin.

When the handkerchief is completely soiled, Monster carefully folds it and replaces it in the leather clutch. The majority of his body is still filthy and slicked with sweat, but his wounds are clean enough to stave off infection. He knows Master doesn't mind dirt and blood. It is what his kind thrives off of.

Monster sets the clutch aside in exchange for the burlap sack and opens it to find what nose already detected: an assortment of dried meat and berries. He feeds Mandos the largest piece of jerky before taking a single strip for himself to nibble on, savoring the sustenance. He learned long ago to cherish every bite of food he receives because Master can take it away at any time, whether as punishment or simply out of misdirected anger.

A stomach that is not his own growls loudly, and Mandos' ears swivel around to follow the sound. Monster turns his head just enough to see the captives glaring sullenly at a young dwarf with less facial hair than he has ever seen on their kind besides himself. The lad looks sheepish, both hands held over his midsection, and Monster takes pity upon him.

Giving his meal a longing glance, Monster stands and cautiously approaches the cell. The group occupying it goes as silent as death, but Monster doesn't look up from beneath the curtain of his hair. He kneels and hesitates before he slides an arm between the bars, holding out the bag of berries and meat. He immediately become acutely aware of the fact that any of them could easily break his arm in this position, and he almost withdraws, but the sack's weight disappears before he can. He glances up to see the youngest dwarf staring at him in awe, the offered food cradled almost delicately in his broad palms.

Monster hastily pulls his arm back and tucks it against his chest. He hopes they eat quickly so he can get the bag back. If Master finds out he has given up his food to somebody else, he will be severely punished. Master hates when he takes his gifts for granted.

"Thank you."

Startled, Monster lifts his head slightly and straightens attentively. He watches from the very corner of his eye as the dwarf smiles, something soft in his expression. He doesn't quite understand why he deserves the gratitude. He only did what any decent creature would. It is by these standards that he knows Master and Pack are not decent.

"I'm Kíli," the stranger continues, and Monster tilts his head to show he is listening, just as he does with Master. It is the only way he has found to express his involvement in the conversation without the eye contact he is forbidden.

Kíli is obviously waiting for a response, but he receives none. The room is silent save for the small amount of sound Mandos makes when he gets up to sit closer to his companion. Monster wonders if this is a test Master planned to catch him disobeying the rules. It would not be the first time Master has orchestrated such a trial.

The strange dwarf must give up on receiving an answer, as he returns to his brethren and begins to ration the dehydrated berries and meat between their numbers. They eat without conversation, but Monster feels their gazes on him, some curious but most wary. It doesn't bother him to be stared at, as often as it happens.

He ignores the looks and begins to brush his hair.

 

* * *

 

Kíli deflates when the curious little creature remains silent, unresponsive to his advances. He only picks up his brush and returns to his grooming, thick bristles cleaning away dirt to bring out a stunning gold in his gorgeous hair. The color is exceedingly rare in their kind, and he experiences the sudden urge to reach out and feel those unusual locks between his fingers

Sighing, Kíli tries to calm his racing heart by distracting himself with splitting the small amount of food into thirteen portions. It doesn't make for much, but they each end up with a few strips of jerky and a minuscule handful of berries that will keep them going for a few hours more.

They eat slowly, and when all crumbs are eagerly vacuumed up, Kíli shuffles to the door and holds the empty sack out. Monster glances up at him, not quite meeting his gaze. He reaches out to accept the bag and snatches his hand back quickly as if to avoid an attack. It saddens Kíli to see such fear in a being so young and beautiful.

He shifts to cross his legs, remaining close to the cell door. He feels a tug towards Monster, as if his soul is drawn to the mysterious boy, and his heart races just looking at him. His palms are sweaty, like they were the first time he kissed a girl, and he's more than a little confused by his body's reaction to this dwarf.

"Hey," he says before he can stop himself.

Monster looks up from where he is carefully packing away his little clutch and bag, startled once again. Their eyes meet this time, and Kíli's heart pounds so loudly in his chest that he wonders if Monster can hear it. He fears it will leap from his ribs and into Monster's hands, though he thinks he wouldn't mind it being there.

He's caught off guard by the notion. He has playfully bedded several dwarf women, but it was only for good fun on both sides. He has never experienced such a significant attraction towards another being before. He begins to perspire at an embarrassing rate, his mouth grows dry, and his belly warms in a way it only has when flirting with a particularly gorgeous lass. It feels something like love.

A low chirping interrupts his thoughts. Monster has returned to avoiding his gaze, but still produces the strange sound, perhaps in response to Kíli. He slides his brush alongside the leather clutch in the little sack and ties it closed with nimble fingers. Kíli notices that his knuckles are heavily scarred.

Monster sets the sack at his side and begins to play with the pendant hanging around his neck, tracing the design with his fingertips. Kíli shifts to get a better look at it, attempting to discern the medallion. It appears to be forged of solid gold and is carved with great skill, only slightly bigger than a castar. He finds it's a symbol comprised of two vertical diamonds tied together, shockingly similar to his own Durin crest, which contains one more diamond than this laid side by side.

Thorin appears suddenly at his side, concerned for Kíli. He doesn't like his nephew sitting so close to the strange creature that he thinks is a dwarf, but possesses many of the characteristics of a wild animal. He would never admit it, but it frightens him to be so ignorant of this threat.

"Come now, Kíli," he says gruffly, clasping the archer's shoulder. "We might as well rest while we can."

Kíli refuses to budge, content with watching their reluctant companion. Thorin scowls at the defiance and looks to Monster to find what Kíli is so enthralled with. The little thing is interesting, that much is true, with his pale stripes and long yellow hair, but he's a violent beast just like any other. Perhaps he was a dwarf at some point, but he is no longer, and that is all he is concerned with.

A flash of gold catches his gaze, and Thorin cranes his neck to notice the fighter turning a pendant in his hands. It must have been polished with dedication to gleam in such a manner, and he sees now that Monster strokes it with a tender affection he didn't think the creature was capable of. He is only an animal, after all.

If he squints, Thorin can just make out the design of the pendant. It strikes him as so very familiar, and he touches on stirring memories with something akin to hesitance. He remembers tiny hands that clutch at his clothes, wild gold hair with braids falling loose, huge blue eyes created from the stars above. He remembers a child he mourned.

Pupils widen and adrenaline surges. Looking at Monster now, Thorin sees him for exactly what he is. Part of his brain tells him that this is not the dwarfling he lost over seventy years ago, but the rest of it recognizes the characteristics belonging to no other but one. The Elven hair, the otherworldly eyes, the unique gold crest - they all point to one person and one person alone.

"Aulë," Thorin murmurs, looking at Monster with wide eyes that blaze in the pale light. "Dís, get over here!"

The woman startles at the hiss and hurries to comply. She rushes to Thorin's side and rests a hand on Kíli's shoulder, her fingers digging in slightly when she notices the expression on her brother's face. Her dark eyes catch the glint of gold and immediately widen just as Thorin's did. She sinks to her knees, and Thorin allows her to shoulder him aside in order to get a better look.

"It can't be," she whispers, blanching. "There-there's no way."

There are tears in her eyes, and Kíli is frustrated. It seems as though everybody knows something that he doesn't, but refuses to tell him. He wants to seize his mother by the shoulders and demand an explanation, but before he has the chance, she turns to look at him with an expression of such boundless joy and grief that renders him speechless.

"He's alive." Her voice is a disbelieving mumble. "My baby's alive."

Thorin wraps his arms around her and she collapses against his side. The company's murmuring rises to a great buzz as they crowd around the Durins, shoving one another to get a better look. Kíli finds himself pushed to the back of the group, isolated, and he flounders for words. He doesn't understand what's happening or why he feels so irritated watching all the men crowd around the cell door to ogle Monster.

"Fíli," Dwalin murmurs in front of him, awe in his voice.

"I can't believe it," Ori exclaims, hanging off Nori's arm. "How long has he been missing?"

"Seventy-one years," Thorin says lowly, soothing his shaking sister.

Kíli bites the inside of his cheek as he attempts to fight his way through the wall of massive bodies shielding  _Fíli_ from his view. The feeling of irritation grows within him as multiple sets of eyes look at the blond with sudden affection.

"Mother," he says, shuffling close to her. "Mother, what's going on?"

"Oh, Kíli, my boy," Dís exclaims, and she's grinning despite the wetness on her face. "Kíli, your brother, he-" She's cut off by a new round of rejoicing tears.

"My brother?" Kíli echoes, brows furrowing deeply. "What are you talking about?"

Dís and Thorin both freeze, and Dís straightens as they exchange a worried look.

"Kíli, honey," she begins, an uncomfortable look on her face, "come here. Come sit by your mother."

The young archer hesitates, because that's the same tone she takes when she's about to break bad news to him. That's the voice that tells him he can't have that biscuit before dinner and that he shouldn't use his bow in the house.

"Mother?" he questions once more, slowly lowering himself to sit awkwardly at her side. The company has made themselves as scarce as they can in the confined space, and he's once again struck by the feeling of being excluded from some great knowledge.

"Kíli, when you were very young," Dís begins, speaking slowly as she carefully picks her words, "only about six years old, a group of orcs attacked the town."

"It was a hunting party looking for a good time," Thorin says, and there's the same bitter note in his voice as when he speaks of Erebor.

"Nobody was hurt," Dís continues, "but we lost one life."

"You said nobody got hurt," Kíli says, confused.

Dís and Thorin both look distinctly sorrowful, grief painted across their bearded faces. Their eyes are dark, and a rock settles in Kíli's stomach.

"Your brother was taken," Thorin says with a rough edge that suggests his throat is clogged with tears. "He was playing in the yard and I-I didn't get to him in time. One of those filthy savages grabbed him and ran off before I could do anything."

"But I-I don't have a brother," Kíli rasps, suddenly unsure of himself.

"Yes, Kíli, you do," Dís says, looking at him with remorseful eyes. "His name is Fíli." She pauses to look at Monster gold medallion once more. "I'd recognize him anywhere - he always stood out with that blond hair - but that crest can only belong to him."

"I made it for him when he was eight," Thorin says, a fond smile overtaking his thin lips. "He never took it off, even now."

Kíli looks over at the young dwarf huddled defensively before them and wonders if the strange attachment he feels is because part of him recognizes that this individual is his brother. His heart is still racing wildly, and something warm curls in his gut.

"Fíli," he whispers, and the name feels so very right on his tongue. "Brother."

His fingers itch to take Fíli's hand in his own, to brush his thumb over split knuckles. He wants to kiss every little stripe and scar, to chase away the pain of seven lonely decades, to make that gorgeous body sing. It's not brotherly in any right, but he wants it so very badly.

"What have they done to my baby?" Dís whispers, and Kíli sees Thorin shrug from the corner of his eye. "They've _brutalized_ him."

Swallowing audibly, Thorin shuffles close to the steel bars separating him from the child he thought was dead. He drinks in the sight of him, so tiny and beaten and vulnerable, yet so very strong. He allows his joy to wash over him as he basks in the familiarity of that dirty face, and he can't restrain the urge to reach out towards one thin ankle, just to make sure this beautiful creature is real.

 

* * *

 

Monster crawls over to lay against Mandos, curling up and burying his face in the warg's side. The dwarves have taken a very sudden and bewildering interest in him that he isn't entirely sure what to do with. He has ignored their whispered conversation and therefore missed out on any explanation they may have unwittingly provided. He thinks that they are arguing for the right to mount him, as Pack so often does, but he will have to fight them if they somehow find a way to reach him. Master has forbade him from allowing any commotion while he's absent.

The young fighter nuzzles further into Mandos' warm fur and closes his eyes, tuning out the buzz of low voices around him. He hopes that Master will be back soon to retrieve him. He wants nothing more than to enjoy a full meal and endure a thorough mating before curling up in Master's soft bed for a long night's rest.

He's almost achieved a very light doze when a fleeting touch forces him into motion. Monster sits up, surprised, and immediately pulls his foot away from the hand that hovers above it. He curls his lips back to expose his teeth, warning away the fingers that reached for his ankle. However, the dwarf doesn't appear bothered. He only fixes Monster with wide cobalt eyes and works his jaw briefly.

"My name is Thorin," he says, and his voice is but a murmur. "Do you remember me?"

Twisting his lips into a small frown, Monster regards the man suspiciously, but otherwise remains unresponsive.

"It's Uncle Thorin," the dwarf tries once more, desperate.

Monster deepens his frown and prepares to stand, feeling the urge to put distance between himself and the unsettling situation. He doesn't know what the odd dwarf is talking about and is fairly curious, but he doesn't want to encourage further interaction. Indulging the clearly disturbed man will only give Master a reason to punish him, and Monster thinks he has been very good and has enjoyed receiving so little scolding as of late.

Thorin's hand suddenly darts between the bars to grab him tightly by the forearm. Monster's docile demeanor instantly melts away. He twists around to growl threateningly at him, lips curled back to reveal elongated canines capable of tearing through flesh and bone. He narrows his smoldering blue eyes into a glare so piercing that Thorin appears to almost lose his courage.

"Fíli," he rasps, face pressed awkwardly against the bars.

Monster's intimidating expression transitions into one of shock. Nobody has called him by that name in so long that he has almost forgotten it. Hearing it spoken by that mouth triggers something deep within him, but it does nothing more than make his heart ache. He is reminded of years gone by, when he was the individual this Thorin is looking for.

The fighter meets Thorin's stormy eyes despite his training and comes very close to opening his mouth to respond, but before he can, a shrill cry echoes through the network of tunnels. He immediately twists around to look to the entrance where the shout originated, his spine ramrod straight. Mandos is in a similar state of alertness at his side, shoulders squared and hackles raised.

There is a powerful presence nearby. It exudes a righteous magic that makes Monster bristle and growl low in his throat. It is an unfamiliar magic unlike anything he has ever experienced, sending instinctive panic flooding his veins alongside a large dose of adrenaline. He backs up against the cell containing the dwarves and coils his muscles tightly in preparation for an attack.

However, no attack comes. There's a beat of silence before the doors on either side of him give a mighty rattle and explode outward. Monster cries out in alarm and flattens himself against the floor to avoid being hit by the heavy steel bars. Mandos darts over to cover the blond's body with his own, protecting him from the bits of stone and dirt that fall from overhead.

Monster begins to chirp rapidly as the dust settles and the faraway sounds of chaos grows louder. Mandos allows him to crawl out from beneath his massive body, and he looks over to see the captives peeking out their cell. They slowly creep out, eyes darting about like frightened rabbits. He ignores their escape and instead turns his attention to the distant clashing of metal on metal and the cries of wounded beasts echoing through the tunnels.

Beyond the door, he finds it is a war zone. There are bodies of goblins strewn across the floor in hapless numbers. Monster raises his nose to scent the air and curls in upon himself as he smells Master, ice creeping down his spine. He follows the odor down the main corridor and into a small side tunnel to find Master laying propped up against the wall in a pool of his own blood, still and lifeless. His pale eyes are still open, and Monster hesitates before he closes them, as if afraid the orc is only trying to trick him.

Monster sits back on his haunches and begins to whimper. Mandos lays down at his side and folds his ears back, concerned with the despairing sounds his boy-pup is producing. He nuzzles Monster's hand and licks his fingers in an attempt to comfort him, but the blond only cries harder. He wraps his arms around Mandos' muscular neck and leans his forehead against Master's chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him.

Without Master, he will surely perish. Master always knows what to do and controls every aspect of his life, providing him with structure, discipline, and sustenance. Without Master, there is nothing. He cannot exist without Master. He will die here, at Master's side, loyal until the end of time.

Curling up in the crook of Master's arm, Monster despairs. Mandos shuffles closer and rests his massive head on his companion's thigh, carefully avoiding putting too much pressure on the sutures there. His black eyes watch his boy-pup's face, saddened by the tears he sees there, and he leans up to gently lick the moisture away. Monster smiles weakly at him and pets his ears, causing his tail wag at the positive response.

Heavy footsteps thunder down the main corridor, making both creatures tense. They watch the company of dwarves run past, following a tall man dressed in billowing grey robes. Monster can sense that this is the magic user he detected earlier, and he shifts to crouch between Mandos and Master, trembling with adrenaline. He bares his teeth when Kíli appears at the mouth of the small tunnel, a wide grin splitting a face when he spots Monster.

"Come on!" the lad shouts, reaching out to grab him by the wrist.

Monster evades the physical contact and ducks under Kíli's arm, taking off after the other dwarves. He hears Mandos follow, Kíli hot on his heels, and though it makes his skin crawl to be trapped in the middle of what he only knows as strangers, he feels safe with Mandos at his side.

The band of dwarves traverse the underground system of tunnels with desperate haste, panting and rapidly exhausting. They pour into the main cavern, clambering across the rickety bridges and pushing howling goblins to their deaths as they appear. They follow Magic Man with a blind trust not unlike that with which Monster obeyed Master, and he experiences a sharp pang of guilt deep in his chest.

Monster senses a sudden disturbance in the air, and so he is prepared when the bridge they are running along gives a mighty shake and the boards just before Thorin at the head of the pack explode upward to reveal a disgusting form. He throws his arms up to shield his face against the cloud of splintered wood that rains down upon them, the majority of the projectiles bouncing harmlessly off his striped skin.

The Great Goblin roars his fury, eyes bulging in their sockets. The company's progress grinds to a halt in their alarm, but Monster and Mandos continue on without fear. Monster pushes his way through the dwarves while Mandos leaps over their heads and onto the Great Goblin. The chief gives a shout of pain as Mandos sinks his fangs into his meaty shoulder and swings one hulking arm, staff in hand. Monster ducks just in time to avoid being thrown off the catwalk and darts between his squat legs.

Reaching into his holsters, Monster retrieves his punch knives and easily slides them into position. He twists around to take a hit at the Great Goblin's massive back, sinking his knives into the fatty flesh he knows is covering one kidney. The brute shrieks in pain and throws Mandos off of him in order to swing around to face Monster. His expression is one of sheer rage, but Monster feels no fear as he goes in for another attack, even as his own body screams.

He rains down blows on every tender bit of tissue he knows, inflicting the maximum amount of pain and damage while also leaving the Great Goblin completely incapacitated. He punctures meat and organs alike with an expertise and ferocity that leaves everyone surrounding him reeking of utter terror. Blood splatters across his filthy skin and his opponent is a blubbering mass of flesh at his feet. He makes a sound of disgust.

Mandos charges the Great Goblin with teeth exposed and shoulders him off the catwalk, causing it to shake and wobble precariously from the sudden change in weight distribution. Monster tears off across the bridge towards the exit the moment the goblin chief disappears from view, and the warg bounds after him, tongue lolling out of his mouth. They can smell fresh air, and freedom is close enough to taste.

The duo explodes into the night, thirteen dwarves following. Mandos flops onto the ground a safe distance away, sending a cloud of dirt into the refreshingly cool air, and Monster collapses against him, exhausted. His wounded thigh and forearm throb with renewed force, the sutures holding the skin together having pulled extensively, but thankfully not popped. He aches as he always does, tender with black bruises and pink scars, but it is so familiar a feeling that it soothes him. He is alive to feel that ache, and that is good.

Closing his eyes, Monster sighs into Mandos' sleek fur and focuses on the sound and motion of his heavy panting to distract from the stabbing pain emanating from his wounds. The sutures have pulled enough to be extremely uncomfortable, making him want to scratch at them. Mandos bows his head to clean his wounds, as if sensing his train of thought, and his discomfort is somewhat eased.

The young fighter tucks his legs against his chest and listens as the dwarves bicker amongst themselves. He can feel several stares burning into his flesh, but it seems that most of them are focused elsewhere. Thorin is the most prominent voice in his keen ears as he complains about what he refers to as "Burglar." Monster doesn't know who this Burglar is, but he thinks the individual should appear soon lest Thorin beat and mount him as punishment.

A sudden silence falls over the group, and Monster opens one eye to see their gazes turned towards a lone form scrabbling down the incline. He and Mandos both raise their heads in interest as the creature he thinks is Burglar stumbles down the slope to join the group. Judging by his scent, as well as his oversized feet, Monster identifies him as a hobbit.

At his side, Mandos raises his nose and opens his mouth to scent the air, and Fíli immediately does the same. He parts his lips and inhales a deep breath, tasting each presence on the back of his tongue. There is one scent that stands out among the rest, something rotten and fetid that he has encountered several times during their travels. He is suddenly reminded of Pack and quickly identifies this odor as the scent of greed and lust. It makes him want to flee out of instinct alone, but he refrains from doing so.

Standing, Monster lifts his head to the heavens and sucks in a few breaths in rapid succession. The dwarves, hobbit, and wizard turn their attention to him, startled by his defensive behavior, but he is lost to the putrid scent consuming his senses. His blood freezes in his veins and his body trembles as he frantically scents the air, lungs straining with the effort. He begins to whimper, quick and high-pitched, and skitters away from the predator leering at him from the darkness.

_Demon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you love how everything is totally normal at the beginning and then I just sent it completely off the rails?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monster is reacquainted with his worst nightmare and old scars are reopened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to [FiliKiliThorinForever](http://archiveofourown.org/users/FiliKiliThorinForever/pseuds/FiliKiliThorinForever), who is a beautiful human being and a downright fantastic writer of Fíli angst. If you haven't been that way yet, I highly recommend you do so, but keep in mind that everything happening over there will ruin your life in the best kind of way.

Ever since Black-Birth, and perhaps even before, Others have conspired against him. Master was likely to protect him from the many obstacles Others sent his way, namely Pack who refuses to submit to Master's dominance and obey when told Monster is not to be mounted, but Master is gone. He is one with Others now, twinkling above him in the big sky with a serenity that he can only dream of. It makes him angry, because Master is _his_ , not _Others'_ , but they have taken Master away despite it and left Monster on his own to fend off the predators that are forever hunting him. He has only Mandos to help fight Others and their malevolent desire to break him.

It has been many moons since Others first introduced to Demon into his life, but he remembers their first encounter as if it happened only a few short moments before. Though Master was not companionable with Demon in any way, he had no choice but to obey because Demon outranks many in strength and wit, Master of Master. He demanded Monster as tribute, perhaps by Others' will or his own greed, and Master fought him until Demon pinned him with a dagger to his throat, forcing him to submit. Master relented only when his life was at stake, and Monster was given to Demon as an offering of reluctant goodwill. He will always remember that wretched night, the overwhelming agony of breaking bones and tearing flesh that he had not endured at such an intensity since Black-Birth. Seeing his worst nightmare now makes the scars he left behind _burn_.

Monster's thighs tremble as he watches Demon approach like the chronic curse he is. He feels the sudden and awful need to submit, to get down on hands and knees and present himself, but he forces his instincts to resist the call. Master's last command was to prevent trouble, mounting most importantly, and Monster will obey his word, even in death.

"Well, well, well," Demon drawls, smirking past a mouthful of rotten fangs. "If it isn't Jukkhag's little pet. What are you doing with Thorin and Company, hm?"

Monster curls his lips back to expose his teeth and growls deep in his chest, warning the brute away. His heart pounds in the fragile cage of his ribs as he watches orcs and wargs alike slink from the darkness to surround the dwarves, hobbit, and wizard he now recognizes as Company. He glances briefly over his shoulder, unwilling to turn his back to Demon, and realizes that his opponents are cutting him off from any aid he may attempt to utilize.

Fortunately, Mandos keeps close to his side, snapping his teeth at any who dares attempt to separate him from his boy-pup. He raises his hackles as one of his own kind steps too close and lashes out to clamp his jaw around its throat, piercing vital veins and arteries. The warg crumples to the ground, squealing, and another member of its pack rushes in to assist it.

Monster reacts immediately, conditioned to work in perfect tandem with his partner, and bodily shoves the second beast back, making it yelp as its paws are swept out from beneath it. He bares his fangs and snarls at his opponent, squaring his shoulders to make himself appear larger. The warg watches him for a moment before it darts past him to go after Mandos, chasing him purposefully towards the cliff.

Demon grins widely as Monster is left isolated, delighting in the spilling of blood.

"Still just as feisty as I remember," he says, licking his pale lips.

Recognizing the look of hunger in Demon's cold eyes, Monster barks in warning, but does not back away. Retreating would only identify him as the submissive party, and he refuses to give in no matter how loudly his instincts scream for him to do so. Master never wanted to give him to Demon, initially or any time after, and Monster does not do anything that Master doesn't want.

Demon lunges suddenly, making Monster stumble backwards. He pins Monster to the ground with his superior strength, clamping a hand around each of his thin wrists where his steel claws are anchored. His grip is relentless as Monster struggles against him, refusing to budge even the slightest bit. Still, he fights like the wild thing he is, bucking and mimicking a warg hunting howl that confuses the surrounding canines and briefly draws their attention away from where they stalk Company.

"Submit," the white orc growls, but Monster only spits in his disfigured face.

Disgusted, Demon easily flips his prey onto his stomach and wraps a massive hand around his neck. He presses Monster's face hard into the dirt, brute strength allowing him to hold the small body in place without effort. He smirks and tightens his grip around the prone length of Monster's nape, threatening delicate vertebrae.

" _Submit_ ," he says once more, claws sinking into tender flesh.

Monster's cheeks burn in shame as he finally ceases his fruitless struggle. He presses his lips into a thin line and slowly raises his hips, knees spread wide to display his most intimate parts. His bare thighs quake as cold hands stroke them in praise with a gentleness that belies their cruel nature, and he tries not to think of how appalled Master would be.

Company begins to shout, and Monster raises his gaze to see Thorin break away from the group, dodging between orcs and their vicious mounts. His dignified features are distorted by a terrible snarl that would strike fear into the heart of a lesser creature, but does nothing to frighten Demon. The brute only flashes that casual, self-confident smirk and huffs out an amused laugh.

Demon releases his prey to stand, and Monster clenches his eyes closed to avoid what he knows will happen. He smells Thorin's wound, thick and metallic, before Thorin himself can even register the pain and cry out against it. He flinches at the shout and hears the muted thump of a solid body dropping to the unforgiving ground, feels the minuscule vibrations in the earth.

The cries of Company reach a climax as fire breaks out and they're herded closer to the very edge of the cliff they stand upon. There is a single pine tree that has not yet been touched by the hungry flames, and a portion of Company clambers up into the thick boughs to avoid the enraged orcs that chase after them. The remaining dwarves stay on the ground to repel their attackers from the tree, while Burglar defends Thorin's vulnerable body from rabid wargs.

The smoke clouding the thick air stings Monster's eyes. Demon pays it no mind, choosing instead to slide his hands into threadbare smalls and grope at the flesh he finds beneath, claws leaving long scratches in their wake. He delights in studying Monster's body, recognizing several scars as ones he himself inflicted upon that lovely skin.

"Do you touch these and think of me?" Demon purrs, tracing a circle of tiny scars he recalls were produced by his teeth when he once took Monster by the neck to keep him still during their forced mating.

He lowers his mouth to the collection of scars and slots his fangs into the corresponding marks before clamping his powerful jaw closed, reliving that delightful memory. Monster shrieks and writhes in Demon's grasp as healed flesh is reopened, sending pain racing up and down the length of his spine. He feels Demon smile against his neck before he unlocks his jaw from around tender flesh to lap up the warm blood that oozes from the small puncture wounds.

Demon makes a low sound of pleasure in the back of his throat and turns his attention to different scars, wrapping a hand around Monster's nape once more to hold him in place. He relishes the memories of each wound, slowly reopening thick scar tissue with a careful consideration while his prey maintains a running string of pained whimpers and terrified geckers.

Smirking in glee, Demon grasps trembling thighs and pulls Monster across the ground to slot their hips together. Monster whines pitifully, lost in the shadows of his tortured mind, and Demon drinks up the broken sounds like ambrosia. He slides his hands into the blond's smalls once again and stabs his fingers ruthlessly into the tender, unprepared flesh he finds there. Monster moans in pain and writhes helplessly, but is otherwise unable to protest.

There's a sudden rustling of feathers, and Demon grunts as he's grabbed by a pair of curled talons and launched across the clearing, colliding with another orc and its mount. Monster is thrown to the side by the force of the blow, tumbling across the dirt and landing hard on his side on an orc's discarded weapon. The blade buries itself into the dip of his waist, punching through the back of his hip straight through the front, making him arch away and cry out in shock. He instantly grabs the dagger by the hilt and rips the jagged blade from his back without hesitance. He throws it aside with a sound of disgust and presses a hand to the wound to stanch the slow flow of blood.

Monster climbs to his unsteady feet and reels when a large form almost bowls him over as it did Demon. His eyes widen in shock and awe as he looks to the massive flying creatures circling above him, their sleek feathers shining like gold in the melting sunlight. He skitters away, instincts screaming to find shelter before the predators swoop down and snatch him up like they do the wargs and orcs attacking them.

Darting towards the tree where Company is scrambling, Monster barks to call Mandos to him. His companion is locked in a struggle with a chestnut-furred warg that refuses to go down, even as Mandos locks his powerful jaw around its tender throat. Monster barks again, more frantic this time, as he expertly scales the tree and perches at the very top. He stands carefully, still clutching his knife wound, and looks over the pack of blood-thirsty predators, inhaling a deep breath to attempt another call.

Something grabs him by the back of his harness and he's suddenly falling. His mouth opens in a terrified scream, but no sound comes out. He thinks that he's about to die, that he was wrong to follow Company, that this was their plan all along. The crafty little beasties betrayed him when they saw fit. He thinks he'd rather they'd thrown them to the wargs than off the precipice.

He lands hard on a bed of feathers. His breath explodes from his lungs in one great _whoosh_ , and he stares up at the sky, dazed, as he tries to suck oxygen back in. The sound of the blood rushing through his veins is deafening in his ears, and his entire body throbs in time with the beat of his heart. His eyelids clench closed of their own accord in a feeble attempt to help straighten his tilting vision.

"Fíli!"

Monster blinks his eyes open, long lashes casting shadows over delicately striped skin. Kíli's face hangs suspended above him, and there's a mixture of concern and relief written clearly across his sharp features. Monster finds it strange, because Mandos is the only one who worries for him.

_Mandos._

Every muscle tensing, Monster scrambles to his feet. His knees wobble precariously, attempting to steady the rest of his body when the massive bird beneath them flaps its mighty wings, but he ignores the sudden sense of vertigo. He looks to the cliffside where only a few straggling dwarves are mounting their own eagles to avoid the wrath of Demon.

When the last man has fled into the sky, Mandos appears at the very tongue of the cliff. He spots Monster instantly and gives a confused bark, asking why his boy-pup has left him. Monster yelps shrilly in return, attempting to convey how sorry he is, but he thinks that there is no sound that can express the sheer intensity of his feelings. Mandos barks again, louder and more desperate, but it is only a whisper to Monster as his most precious companion disappears into a tiny pinprick on the horizon.

Monster howls in anguish, doubling over to bury his face in his knees. Mandos' bewildered calls melt into the amber sun, and Monster sobs loudly and openly despite the presence of Kíli. Tears stream down his dirty cheeks as he wails beseechingly, desperately calling to his partner. His only answer is the gentle whistle of the wind in his ears.

A broad palm falls on his bare back, and Monster twists around to flash his fangs at Kíli, snarling threateningly. Part of him recognizes that the gesture was meant to comfort, but the rest is lost to the despair that settles in the very marrow of his bones. Mandos is his lifeline, the one thing that keeps him anchored to the earth. A life without Master is death, but a life without Mandos is far worse.

 

* * *

 

Kíli twists his fingers together as he watches his companion cry. He longs to reach out and touch again, to offer some sort of solace, but Fíli's discomfort with physical contact is expressed clearly. He thinks it must be a combination of decades of abuse, as well as the pain he has to be in. The small body is smeared with blood, scars forcefully pulled open and oozing slowly, and he sustained a wound to the side, if the way he clutches at it is any indication.

"Fíli," he whispers, but the blond does not respond. Whether it is because he is unfamiliar with the name or simply consumed by his sorrow, he isn't entirely sure. "Monster."

He receives a yelp this time around, a high-pitched sound not unlike that made by a wounded hound. Something cold and angry curls in his stomach at seeing Fíli cry so violently. He desperately wants to comfort him, but he also thirsts for the blood of whoever caused that sorrow. It makes him ache deep inside, as if he is sharing Fíli's pain. It surprises him, because he didn't even feel such strong emotion at Azog's cruel impaling of Thorin.

They are brothers, he reminds himself, gathering the courage to reach out for Fíli once more. The fighter flinches away from his touch, but doesn't protest beyond a small chuffing growl. Kíli allows a few moments to pass before he begins to move his hand in slow motions, gently rubbing his broad palm up and down the length of Fíli's bare back. There's another chuffing sound, but this one is weaker than the last, produced with less conviction.

"Hey," Kíli murmurs, counting the notches of Fíli's spine. "You're okay."

Fíli jerks away from him and bares his fangs once more. Kíli can't help but stare at them as he holds his hands up in surrender, thinking that it wouldn't take much effort for Fíli to rip his throat out if he so chose to. The thought does surprisingly little to sway him. He feels so strong a connection to this unfamiliar young dwarf that he thinks there is nothing that could tear him away by choice.

Kíli gives Fíli his space for the remainder of the flight. He instead finds contentment in watching his brother's long blond hair twist and curl in the wind, brushing over sun-baked skin made even darker by blood and earth. There's something attractive about the filthy and scarred state of him, something deep and primal that makes his gut warm pleasantly. He wants to kiss every one of those wounds and ravish that gorgeous body.

The eagles begin to make a careful descent towards the Carrock, feathers fluttering carelessly. Fíli finally looks up at this, and it breaks Kíli's heart to see the redness of his eyes and the streaks his tears cut through the dirt covering his face. He reaches out to make another attempt at comfort, nothing if not stubborn, but Fíli leaps off the eagle's back before they even come to anything like a stop.

Making a sound of alarm, Kíli slides awkwardly off the giant bird. He stumbles when his boots hit the ground, but he recovers quickly, spurred on by his concern. Fíli could have very easily broken both his legs jumping from such a height, and it frightens him despite seeing with his own eyes the sheer power that the relentless fighter exerts. He's sure that it would take a lot more than a fifteen-foot drop to kill Fíli, but it doesn't stop his rapidly growing attachment from twisting his stomach into a tight knot of anxiety.

He turns to see Fíli has retreated a safe distance away, crouched on the very tip of the Carrock's tongue and eyeing the company with blatant mistrust. He looks to be unharmed, disregarding his prior injuries, but in a foul mood. Kíli realizes now that the warg Fíli associated with is not presence, left behind with Azog and his men. He feels ridiculous, having thought that Fíli was upset due to Azog's cruel and brutal assault, not the loss of his pet.

Kíli stands aside as Gandalf takes control of the situation, waving the company away from Thorin's prone body. He alternates between watching Fíli withdraw and watching Gandalf heal his uncle, both views providing equal amounts of distress. The archer helps Thorin to his feet when prompted to, but his eyes are on Fíli now. Thorin's wound is easily dealt with, but Fíli is an entirely different story.

The blond sniffles and wipes his nose on the back of his hand, knees tucked tight against his chest. Kíli takes a step forward to console the agitated fighter now that Thorin does not require his assistance, but a heavy hand falls on his shoulder, pulling him back. He looks over at Dís, who shakes her head and gives him a meaningful look.

"Wait until he's calmed down," she says, glancing to Fíli.

Kíli presses his lips together, but nods anyway.

 

* * *

 

Monster watches Company regroup with narrowed eyes. His initial sorrow quickly joined with rage, creating a cocktail that sloshes in his stomach and seeps from his very pores. He's angry with these people, angry that they tore him away from his Mandos. He would have preferred to stay and fight Demon and his wargs than leave Mandos at their mercy. It makes him sick to even imagine Mandos alone with Demon, and he's thankful that there's only a sliver of jerky in his stomach. Any more and he would have vomited by now.

He looks up when the she-dwarf approaches him, moving slowly and deliberately. When she's within arm's reach, she holds out a handkerchief to him, offering a small, reassuring smile. He studies her critically for several long moments before he quickly snatches the cloth away, clutching it to his bare chest. Her smile widens slightly, and he can see Kíli glaring at her back.

Eyes wide and posture alert, Monster waits until she returns to her kin before he unfurls his legs. He opens the handkerchief and begins to clean his injuries, beginning with the knife wounds. Fortunately for him, the blade was so thin that the puncture marks remained almost completely closed on their own and thus restricted the flow of blood.

When he finishes wiping away the gravel caught in his skin, he turns to his other wounds. His blond hair falls in a protective curtain around his face, shielding him from the worried and wary glances of Company. He makes quick work of cleaning the blood and dirt from the half-dozen scars Demon managed to pry open before he was interrupted. The bite mark on his neck hurts the most, Demon's teeth having sunk deep into the thick scar tissue. It burns furiously as he blots the filth away, but the pain is manageable.

Monster tucks the ruined handkerchief into his harness, thinking that it won't serve anybody but him anymore considering it's been thoroughly saturated with his own blood. He curls his body back into a tiny ball, feeling vulnerable without Mandos at his back to keep an eye out for danger. He hates that he is alone with these strangers who know nothing about him and think he's _Fíli_ , call him by _Fíli's_ name.

Company begins to speak in low tones, and Monster closes his eyes to help block out their voices. He hopes they leave so he can die here in peace. There is no Master and there is no Mandos, and therefore there is no Monster. In the very beginning, when they escaped their cells and fled into the world, he thought that Thorin would mount and claim him. Much of Company reeks of _dominant_ , but from what he has seen, they submit to him in all respects. He thought that once Thorin saw Monster without Master, smelled the evidence of Master's death on him, he would assume ownership, but he did not.

Monster is lost. He longs to be Fíli simply so he doesn't have to endure this crippling despair. He longs to return to Master and Mandos. He longs to submit to Thorin so he may have New Master. New Master would give him direction and purpose so he does not become a Shadow Person wandering aimlessly throughout the mortal realm.

A faraway cry sounds from above, and Monster looks up to see a form rise from beyond the trees. Its powerful wings flap rapidly in an effort to catch up to its brethren, and Monster raises his head high when he detects a familiar barking. His heart leaps in his chest, threatening to break free from its cage, and his breath catches.

Turning in restless circles, Monster chirps rapidly, nose lifted to the sky. He trembles with barely contained energy as he watches the massive bird swoop low to the Carrock and drop its cargo before ascending back into the heavens. Monster immediately takes off towards the large form that shakes itself off, moving awkwardly as if dizzy from the flight.

Mandos looks down at him, slack-jawed and panting, and Monster rejoices at his return. He collapses to his knees, tearing open the flesh there when he skids across the stone of the ground, and throws his arms around the warg's thick neck. He buries his hands and face in the soft, sleek fur, chuffing loudly, and Mandos responds with a pleased groan. He dips his head to Monster's back to pull the small body against his chest, neck curving over the blond's shoulder in something like a hug.

Monster chirrups, barks, trills - he makes every sound he can to express his relief at his companion's return. Mandos regards him with amusement, equally joyous over being returned to his boy-pup, and laves his tongue over Monster's dirty face. He pulls his jowls back in a big canine grin when he receives a yip for his troubles.

Company approaches them, effectively shattering the moment, but Monster is too happy to lash out at them. He simply regards them with a suspicious glare and huddles closer to Mandos' protective form, tucked away between his long legs. Mandos himself watches them closely, narrowing his intelligent black eyes as if daring them to disturb his boy-pup.

The duo stares them down before Company decides to skirt around them to reach the stairs carved into the sides of the Carrock. They shoot longing glances towards the horizon where a lone mountain stands silently, black against the melting pastel sky. Monster raises his head to view it as well, the sharp peak towering above the wildlife dwelling at its base. It's beauty in its most natural form, but he doesn't understand why Company gazes upon it with such sentimentality.

Monster waits until the last of Company begins down the staircase before he moves. There is nowhere else for him to go, so he is forced to follow them, scampering down the narrow steps. Company is moving much more slowly then he would like, but if he attempts to bypass them, he leaves himself very vulnerable. It would only take the slightest nudge to push him over the edge and to his death.

Mandos presses his wet nose between Monster's shoulder blades to remind him he is not alone, as if sensing his train of thought. The fighter smiles to himself and takes comfort in his companion's support. With Mandos at his back, puffing large breaths over his hair, the descent goes quickly, and he soon finds himself on rocky terrain shrouded in shadow.

Locating a small stone outcrop for shelter, Mandos squeezes beneath and takes the back of Monster's harness in his teeth, dragging him after. Monster barks in protest, but follows anyway, crawling into the natural cubby to sit between Mandos' outstretched front legs. He nuzzles Mandos' thick scruff, and the warg immediately sets to work licking his partner's wounds, cleaning away any blood or dirt that may cling to the scars Demon reopened. He wishes we would have had the chance to bite the white orc for hurting his boy-pup again.

Monster begins to purr in pleasure, content with his companion once again at his side. He wraps his arms around Mandos' neck and leans against him as he turns a portion of his attention to Company. He watches with half-lidded eyes as the dwarves and Magic Man speak, and a short while later, Burglar separates from the group. The hobbit clambers up the small path winding towards the top of the mountain, flanked on either side by large boulders.

He closes his eyes and kisses Mandos' forehead.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo scrambles along the rocky terrain as quickly and quietly as he can. He doesn't want to be alone long, because there's safety in numbers and, honestly, he is not the most adept at close combat, or combat of any kind, really. Though his Took sense of adventure is persuasive, his Baggins side oftentimes dominates, leading him to develop an aversion to anything out of the ordinary. It is not typical for a hobbit to be particularly proficient in combat, and so he never bothered to learn, nor did he have a reason to think he would ever need such a skill.

Now, however, he wishes he had indulged his Tookish side a bit more. His family and friends already think he's odd due to his conflicting feelings towards the world, so what harm would a few more quirks do? Save his tail end, that's what. He is going to run out of blind luck at some point, and he doesn't want that to happen when his companions aren't present to lend a strong helping hand.

Climbing to the very top of the ridge, Bilbo takes cover behind a wall of large rocks. He looks over to see Azog and his party making quick progress across the opposite ridge, the excited barking of their wargs ringing out across the gorge separating them from their prey. The white orc stops at the crown of the trail to glare at his surroundings, his disfigured face further contorted into an agitated snarl.

Azog's cold eyes sweep over him, and Bilbo quickly ducks out of view. He hides his face in his shoulder and waits a few moments until the barking of the wargs starts up anew. He cautiously lifts his head and watches Azog lead his followers further into the wilderness. He releases the breath he was holding and relaxes slightly.

To his left, an unfamiliar growl rumbles. Bilbo hastens to hide, tucking himself further into the rocks flanking him. He peeks past the boulder blocking his view and widens his eyes to see in the pale light, attempting to discern the shape through the similar coloring of its surroundings. It turns to the horizon, and he makes out a sloped forehead flanked by small ears that swivel ever so slightly towards him when he shifts for a better view. It raises its nose in search of a scent and suddenly tenses its substantial muscles.

The beast lifts its head to issue a mighty roar, and the hobbit takes off towards the company, stumbling along the rocky terrain. He huffs and puffs as he races down the incline, the thick callouses enveloping his large feet protecting him from the unforgiving stone. He has never been forced to traverse such terrain, born and raised in the gentle fields of the Shire as he was, and so when he makes it back to the bottom in one piece, he is grateful.

This is _not_ how he planned on dying.

 

* * *

 

Monster and Mandos raise their heads when the scrabbling of dry feet on stone reach them. Burglar stumbles from the shadows, smelling strongly of _fear_ and _worry_.

"How close is the pack?" Thorin questions the moment the hobbit is in view.

"Too close," he says through his panting breaths. "Couple of leagues, no more, but that's not the worst of it."

Perking up, Monster slinks from his shelter, though he doesn't dare come within arm's reach of Company when they are so agitated. Mandos follows him without hesitation, hackles raised in response to the electricity in the air.

"The wargs picked up our scent," the tattooed one says, voice pitched low with solemnity.

"Not yet, but they will," Burglar remarks. "We have another problem."

"They saw you?" Magic Man intones gravely. When Burglar frowns and shakes his head, he smiles. "What did I tell you? Quiet as a mouse."

Company exclaims in agreement and approval, but Monster does not hear their comments. He detects a strange new scent and lifts his nose to it, while Mandos mirrors him. It is a wild, relentless odor with primary notes of _earth_ , but there is something else about it, something almost sweet, like warm milk and honey. He finds it to be the most curious combination, contrasting qualities blended together in a cocktail of dark and light. He thinks that he must smell similarly.

"Will you just _listen_?" Burglar snaps, bringing them all back to the primary discovery of his exhibition. "I'm trying to tell you there is _something else_ out there."

The buzz of Company's conversations instantly quiets at the hobbit's demanding tone. They exchange glances of concern and displeasure, but otherwise remain silent.

"What form did it take?" Magic Man inquires, and Monster cocks his head in curiosity. "Like a bear?"

"Yes," Burglar replies, surprised, "but bigger, _much_ bigger."

Monster tunes out the responding outrage of Company in order to focus on Magic Man. He creeps closer, Mandos watching him closely, and sits at the wizard's side. He has to lean his head back to see Magic Man's weathered face, long blond hair tumbling down his spine in a thick curtain.

"There is a house," Magic Man says lowly, and Company turns their attention to him. "It's not far from here, where we might take refuge."

" _Whose_ house?" Thorin growls, brow heavy. "Are they friend or foe?"

"Neither," the wizard says simply. "He will help us, or he will kill us."

"What choice do we have?"

A distant howl echoes across the mountain, inspiring fear in every small animal it reaches. Monster bristles and squares his shoulders while Mandos growls deep in his chest, ears raised high.

"None."

 

* * *

 

The brutal, rocky terrain of the mountains makes a sudden transition into dry yellow fields dotted with patches of shrubbery and wildflowers. Monster and Mandos easily outrun the majority of Company, taking up the head of the pack alongside Thorin and Magic Man, but they keep their distance.

The wind cards through Monster's wild hair as he runs, and he can't help but take great pleasure in the feeling of utter freedom. He inhales countless unfamiliar scents and revels in the gentle brush of long grass against his bare legs. The sun caresses his skin, warming him to his very core.

A forest grows on the horizon, comprised of slender trees that tower over all their heads. The uneven ground and many obstacles slow Company slightly, so Monster races past Thorin and Magic Man, expertly navigating the rough terrain with Mandos hot on his heels. He's assaulted by _animal_  on either side, what he now recognizes as Bear behind him and unfamiliar things in front.

Guttural roars explode through the forest, hastening unsteady feet. Monster tracks the progress of all surrounding beings, from the heavy clomping of boots to the distant thump of massive paws on packed dirt. He thinks that, judging by the strength of the _animal_ smell they're approaching, they have a fair chance of reaching safety before either Demon or Bear descends upon them.

Magic Man begins to shout, trying to herd Company along more quickly, but Monster is focused completely on a curious structure laid out some distance before them. He can make out a massive wall, built of heavy timber and reinforced with steel belts. As he draws closer, he can see that the large doors are left open to reveal a well-sized house nestled into a thatch of trees.

Darting into the safety of the enclosed camp, Monster falls into step with Mandos. He can hear the thundering footsteps of their pursuer approaching fast, and so Monster doesn't slow as he reaches the house. He throws himself against the door, synchronized with Mandos, and the wood creaks beneath their combined weight. They repeat the assault once more, and it hurts, but pain is something he can easily disregard.

Realizing that the door will not give from the force of their battering alone, Monster pulls out his punch knives and jams them beneath the steel latch keeping them from entering. The gates burst open and they're inside, Company at their backs. The dwarves brace their heavy, densely muscled bodies against the doors and push them slowly closed, struggling with the weight of them.

A massive form slams into the wood, making Company lurch back and shout in alarm. They continue to push forward as a dripping snout inserts itself between the doors, toothy maw gaping wide in an angry roar. Monster catches a pair of beady black eyes, glinting with mindless rage, before the dwarves give a mighty shove and the beast is expelled. The doors shake ominously, and a heavy wooden bar is pulled into place to firmly seal them closed.

Monster releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Bear's bellows of outrage are muffled by the thick wood separating them, outmatched only by the heavy panting of the exhausted men. Their foreheads gleam with sweat and their scents are stronger, thick and tangy with the evidence of their physical strain.

"What was that?" a redheaded dwarf exclaims, eyes wide.

"That is our host," Magic Man says, and Company goes quiet. "His name is Beorn, and he's a skin-changer. Sometimes he's a huge black bear, sometimes he's a great, strong man. The bear is unpredictable, but the man can be reasoned with. However, he is not overly fond of dwarves."

Company looks up from where they have wandered off to explore the large cabin, skirting around the animals corralled in their individual stalls. The meaningful look on Magic Man's face makes them tense and anxious, but Monster does not worry as they do. He is never seen as a dwarf by others so much as an object to fight and fuck.

The grumbling on the other side of the doors begin to fade, and Monster tilts his head to track the sounds. Company skitters away from the entrance, unnerved, and Monster watches them closely with large eyes. Two of the dwarves bicker briefly, but Magic Man ends their muttering with a low growl of warning.

"Alright, now get some sleep," the wizard orders, striding further into the house.

Murmuring to themselves, Company begins to look for a proper sleeping place away from the doors. They settle down in thick piles of hay and wrap themselves up in wool blankets, eyeing the domesticated animals they are forced to share the space with. Their conversations are a low hum that puts Monster at ease, so similar to quiet nights spent with Mandos wrapped around him and Pack made docile by honey mead. Those were the times in which he felt the most safe.

Kíli shoots him a longing look as he settles down in his makeshift bed, but Monster ignores it. He instead sets about investigating the livestock kept in the house, curious even in the face of danger. He approaches a large black bull with curved horns and lifts his nose to scent it. The beast regards him with indifference, but still dips its head to smell him in return, nostrils flaring as it blows hot breaths over his face. Monster chuffs at it and, deciding that the animals are of no immediate threat to him, climbs onto the bull's back and lifts himself into the loft that overlooks the rest of the house.

Mandos watches him from below before he leaps easily after him, startling the livestock. He settles on a bed of hay close to a small window that looks out into the world and groans low in his throat to call Monster over. The hybrid complies and crawls over to lay against Mandos, tucked comfortably into his warm side. Mandos groans once more, pleased, and rests his massive head on his paws, dark eyes falling closed.

Monster looks through the window and into the night sky where Others twinkle merrily, magnificent in their beauty and power. He wants to fight them as he does opponents in the Pit, but he cannot. They are countless in number and he is not good enough to reach them. He cannot jump so high as to snatch Master away from them, but he desperately wishes he could.

"Get some rest, Fíli," Thorin says, his voice a low rumble in the darkness.

That is him. He is Fíli, but he is Monster. He is both and neither. He was born into the world as Fíli and raised into captivity as Monster. He thinks that he isn't sure which one he should be.

He curls up against Mandos and sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is fUCKING SHIT


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monster learns more about his companions and Kíli makes headway in their relationship without getting mauled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one goes out to waterlilyblue, who delights me with incredible enthusiasm and curiosity. You are much loved here, my darling. c;

When he wakes, it is to the sound of animal activity.

Monster opens his eyes to see Mandos sniffing curiously at a small white mouse that has snuck into their makeshift bed. Horses and bulls snort in their stalls beneath the loft, and the neighing of wild stallions filters in from outside. Somewhere above him, a trio of honey bees bob aimlessly about.

Mandos lifts his head when he notices his partner's gaze on him, and he pulls his jowls back in a big grin. Monster replies with one of his own and turns onto his stomach, stretching his legs out. He reaches over to the warg's tiny companion, touching a fingertip to the top of its head, just between its pink ears. It twists around to sniff him, whiskers flailing furiously, and allows him to stroke his finger down its back.

The mouse darts away in search of food, and Monster mimics the nickering of the horses below as he watches it go. He lifts himself onto his hands and knees and crawls to the edge of the loft to look out over the sleeping Company crowded beneath. All dwarves and Burglar are accounted for, but as he glances about, he finds that Magic Man is absent and his scent is faint.

Monster carefully lowers himself onto the back of a black bull and then hops down to the floor, falling in a crouch. Mandos leaps after him, landing on nimble paws and startling the livestock as he so often does. His tongue lolls out as he follows his boy-pup, who makes slow progress through the heaps of dwarves, moving cautiously so as to keep from disturbing their slumber. However, if their deep snores and occasional jerking twitches are any indication, it would take Bear stampeding through the cabin to wake them.

The duo make their way into the kitchenette, alert for any signs of the missing Magic Man or Host. Mandos stops to investigate a plate of cheeses on the table while Monster crawls beneath it, pausing briefly to listen in on the conversation between several passing mice. He dips his head to scent them, and they rise up on their tiny haunches to twitch their whiskers at him before they scurry away, hastened by hunger.

The hybrid continues on until he appears at the other end, where a large pitcher sits. He climbs up onto the high table and peers inside, curiosity and gnawing hunger joining together. He finds the vessel is filled with milk, and he hesitates before he sits down and pulls it to stand between his legs. He carefully tilts the pitcher and presses his lips to the spout, taking a small sip. The liquid is warm and more sweet than any milk he has ever tasted, but it is good.

Mandos rests his chin upon the table and extends his tongue to take a block of cheese, quickly consuming it. He does the same with several wheat rolls from the basket at Monster's side, chewing laboriously around the mouthfuls of dry bread. Monster follows his example and abandons the milk for a biscuit, which he nibbles on experimentally, enjoying the buttery flavor.

The scent of _Bear_ suddenly invades his senses, but it is much more weak this time, submitting to its tame counterpart. He freezes and tracks the progress of heavy footsteps through the cabin, wondering if he should hide or remain where he sits and fight if the situation calls for it. Mandos is a storm cloud at his side, hackles raised and looking properly intimidating despite the crumbs that cling to his whiskers.

"Hello."

Monster twists around to face the towering beast of a man, his blue eyes round and sharp. The creature reeks of _wary_ , but when he notices Monster's Black-Birth attributes, surprise flashes across his features and a note of _curious_ develops. This releases a bit of the tension from Monster's shoulders, but he still remains alert to danger.

Recognizing this man as Host, Monster instantly drops the biscuit he is holding and makes himself small. He has not been given permission to eat or drink, but he has. He has broken Rules and Host will punish him for his precious resources being wasted on Monster's wretched existence. Master may not be there to enforce Rules, but most of the creatures he encounters recognize him for what he is and understand that he is not deserving of anything, and so they do not hesitate to punish him for his trespasses unless Master were to specifically state otherwise.

Host reaches for him, and Monster flinches away on instinct, expecting a blow to the face. However, Host only picks up the biscuit he dropped and holds it back out to him, an obscure expression of something like grief crossing his distinctive features. Monster hesitates, thinking the gesture to be a trick, before he accepts the biscuit from massive fingers. He takes a bite when Host looks at him expectantly, chewing deliberately without meeting the skin-changer's unwavering gaze.

"It is good?" Host asks, and Monster nods.

Making a sound that can almost be called pleased, Host sets about preparing another basket of wheat rolls. Mandos watches him warily as he works, but eyes the food with interest, and Monster is in a similar state. Host catches their hungry stares and sets the basket on the table in a silent offering.

Monster notices the shackle around Host's wrist and bristles in outrage. He once wore similar bands, in the beginning. They matched his collar, forged of mighty steel and engraved with runes meant to enslave. Host's are not marked like his were, but their purpose is clear despite it.

Host notices his glaring and follows his gaze. He produces a smile that is more like a grimace before looking pointedly to Monster's heavy collar and then the thick ropes of scars circling his thin wrists.

"We come from the same place," he says solemnly, and Monster watches him with round eyes. "I believed that I received the worst of what devastation Orcs have to offer, but perhaps I was wrong."

His eyes linger on the bite mark marring his neck, and Monster shifts, suddenly aware of how filthy and scarred he is. His cheeks burn in shame, and Host averts his gaze politely, as if sensing his self-conscious thoughts.

"Here." Host sets a small jar of something _blueberry_ before him. "Dip your biscuit in that. You'll like it."

Monster takes the change of subject while he can and obeys Host's suggestion. The jam is sweet on his tongue, and he feeds Mandos half of his biscuit with a dollop of the fruit spread when the warg cozies up to his side. He pats his companion's head and splits another with him, munching happily on the treat.

Host sets a bowl before Monster and picks up the pitcher of honey milk to fill it to the very brim. Monster leans down to take a sip, and Mandos playfully nudges him away with his large head to lap up his own share of the sweet sustenance. The fighter chuffs in protest and wraps his arms around his partner's neck, hanging off of his strong frame as he bows to drink alongside him.

When the duo have had their fill, they sit and enjoy the pleasant feeling a full belly provides. Rarely have they ever been allowed to reach the point of true satiation, but now they are nourished and completely content. Mandos leans against the sturdy leg of the table and lays his head in Monster's lap, black eyes falling closed and a groan rumbling up in his broad chest as careful fingers stroke his ears with a tenderness that belies their capabilities.

Monster folds himself over Mandos' neck and rests his head against his thick scruff, blue eyes half-lidded as he watches Host pound dough. He thinks he feels safe with the skin-changer. It isn't like being with Mandos, who makes him feel complete, but it's similar. It's a sense of kinship, a bond between victims of the same assailants, but it's also something more, something deeper and more significant. His instincts tell him that this is a friend, and his instincts are always right.

Relaxed, Monster allows himself to feel safe and closes his eyes. He listens to Mandos' soft breathing, Host's careful baking, and the sounds of Company beginning to wake.

 

* * *

 

Kíli comes to with a wide yawn, feeling more comfortable and well-rested than he has in a long while. He doesn't like that he's come to consider having a pile of dry, scratchy hay to sleep on a pleasure, but his uncle and mother insist it's good for his character. Kíli thinks they're both full of beans.

He stands and stretches, extending his spine and groaning as a few vertebrae give satisfying pops. He relaxes and bends over to tug his boots on, pulling hay from his wool socks before he does so. Now that he's completely awake, he realizes that there's hay _everywhere_ , and it is not comfortable. He picks several pieces from the tangles of his hair while the horse in the stall next to him nibbles away the rest that sticks to his back.

After brushing the dust off his tunic and trousers, Kíli slides his coat on and follows the smell of buttermilk biscuits. He finds Fíli already awake and present, sitting on the table with his pet's massive head in his lap. There's crumbs clinging to the beast's whiskers, and Fíli licks them away like a mother warg does her pup. The large bowl sitting before them is empty save for a tiny pool of honey milk.

Fíli glances up at him, but their eyes don't meet. He thinks that this is something he wants Fíli to grow out of, but he isn't entirely sure if that's a realistic desire. He has not the slightest inkling of what his brother has been through or what kind of "training" he has been subjected to in order for him to become what he is. To his understanding, Fíli was a very healthy dwarfling, physically and psychologically, before he was taken. What became of him is unnatural.

Taking a seat at the closest end of the table, opposite his brother, Kíli waits until Fíli glances at him again to smile. The fighter looks surprised, and Kíli thinks that might be a blush forming beneath the veil of dirt and bruises covering his cheeks. His heart flutters in his chest as Fíli turns his head away, not defensively, but shyly.

The arrival of the rest of his party shatters the moment. Dís takes a seat to his left, and Kíli looks away to hide the goofy grin that refuses to release his mouth. Fortunately for him, her focus is instantly attracted to Fíli, who quickly removes himself from the table as dwarves crowd around it. He climbs easily onto the kitchen counter, and Kíli can't help but watch threadbare fabric strain obscenely over lithe muscles and sun-baked skin.

A plate of biscuits appears before him, and Kíli turns to see Dís staring pointedly at him, one brow raised. He flushes, mortified at being caught plainly ogling his _brother_ by his _mother_ , but she only sighs at him and begins to assemble her own breakfast. He's relieved at her generous dismissal and takes the opportunity to wolf down his biscuits, now realizing just how hungry he is.

He becomes aware of Thorin standing behind him just as Beorn approaches to pour him a large pint of honey milk. He takes it and thanks him, but Beorn's attention is not on him.

"So you are the one they call Oakenshield," the skin-changer says, his voice a low rumble. "Tell me, why is Azog the Defiler hunting you?"

Kíli watches Fíli tense and flick his eyes up to Beorn, who is focused on the king in question.

"You know of Azog?" Thorin returns, equally low. "How?"

"My people were the first to live in the mountains," Beorn says, "before the Orcs came down from the North. The Defiler killed most of my family, but some he enslaved. Not for work, you understand, but for sport."

Bilbo's eyes find Beorn's wrist, where a steel shackle is wrapped, but the dwarves look to Fíli where he sits atop the kitchen counter. Beorn sees where their attention lies and touches a large finger to the back of Fíli's leather harness, earning a chuff. He pats the fighter's blond head, making him shrink beneath the weight of it, and Kíli is surprised to see that the contact is apparently accepted, though not without a stare of stunned awe. He burns with jealousy.

"Caging skin-changers and torturing them." Beorn pauses, a brief flash of anger and grief crossing his features as he pets a bemused Fíli's hair. "Seemed to amuse him."

"There are others like you?" Bilbo inquires delicately, watching the exchange between the unusual companions.

Beorn casts the hobbit a significant look as he says, "Once, there were many."

"And now?"

"Now, there is only one."

A blanket of silence falls over the room, and Kíli occupies himself with picking apart a biscuit. His gaze slides over to Fíli of their own accord, roving over the thick ropes of scars he can see circling his wrists, and he wonders if Beorn shares the same markings beneath his shackles.

"You need to reach the mountain before the last days of autumn," Beorn assumes, the thick tufts of his eyebrows shifting in something like skepticism.

"Before Durin's Day, yes," Gandalf replies, and all eyes turn to Thorin, who avoids them.

"You are running out of time," Beorn remarks.

"This is why we must go through Mirkwood."

The beast of a man fixes the wizard with a piercing glare, and the solemn shadow of his expression intensifies tenfold. At his side, Fíli bristles, sensing the tension, but Beorn's gentle hand on his head soothes him.

"A darkness lies upon that forest," he warns gravely. "Foul things creep beneath those trees." He scratches a nail over the pointed tip of Fíli's ear, making him lean into the pleasant sensation. "There is an alliance between the Orcs of Moria and the Necromancer in Dol Guldur. I would not venture there, except in times of great need."

"We will take the Elven road," Gandalf adds, but Beorn still appears quite skeptical. "Their path is still safe."

"Safe?" Beorn balks, incredulous. "The Wood Elves of Mirkwood are not like their kin. They are less wise, and more dangerous." He watches Thorin ponder his words, a strange look in his intelligent eyes. "But it matters not."

"What do you mean?" Thorin inquires, despondent.

"These lands are crawling with Orcs," he replies, and Fíli becomes suddenly tense beneath his careful ministrations. "Their numbers are growing and you are on foot. You will never reach the forest alive."

Thorin's sharp eyes darken, and Kíli feels Dís' hand settle on the broad line of his back, reaching out for some sort of comfort. His mother is a strong, hardy woman, as all Dwarf folk are, but he knows she worries for him. If the way her eyes dart to Fíli is any indication, she now worries for him as well.

Beorn rises from his seat, standing at his full height to tower menacingly over their own squat frames. He makes a point of meeting all their eyes, wholly securing their attention.

"I don't like Dwarves," he growls, and his hand remains on Fíli's head, even as the blond bristles at his stinging words. He watches as Bofur brushes a scavenging mouse from his arm, and Kíli feels as though he could not have done that at a worse time. "They're greedy and blind, blind to the lives of those they deem lesser than their own."

Beorn reaches out to grab the mouse, holding it securely in one massive hand. He examines it critically, like a predator does its prey, but he does not harm it as they thought he would. He instead offers it to Fíli, who takes it into his own petite hands and cradles it delicately against his chest. He looks up at Beorn with large eyes, and the skin-changer holds his gaze as he says, "But Orcs I hate more."

He turns to glare down at Thorin, frightening in his strength and stature.

"What do you need?"

 

* * *

 

Monster retreats to the loft when Beorn's eyes leave him for Thorin. He sits at the very edge to watch over the proceedings, and Mandos follows as he always does, laying at his side and nuzzling his head into his partner's lap. Monster pets his muzzle with his free hand before cupping them together to support the small mouse carefully examining his fingers.

It stands on its haunches and squeaks at him, whiskers twitching, and Monster returns the sound with one of understanding. He lowers his hands to the floor and allows the mouse to scurry from his grasp, its round ears alert. It looks back at him with tiny black eyes and and makes a point of sniffing about the pile of hay before darting back to sit beneath his leg.

Nothing if not curious, Monster follows its example and sinks down on his hands and knees. He noses through the hay and comes upon a brush with thick bristles that smells faintly of _pony_. Monster delights in his discovery and immediately sets about brushing the speckles of mud and blood from Mandos' fur.

As he works, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck prickle and a spark races down his spine. His instincts immediately locate the direction from which the disturbance originates, and he turns his head just enough to catch a burning gaze that is less than subtle. Kíli looks away when he realizes he's been caught staring, and Monster narrows his eyes suspiciously.

Kíli feigns interest in Company's conversations for several moments before his focus returns to where Monster sits with Mandos. He must not be able to see Monster's eyes on him through his curtain of blond hair, as he continues to stare intently without pause. He appears to be fighting himself over something, and there's a veil of longing draped over his features, like he wants to leave Company and join the duo in the loft.

Monster continues to watch from the corner of his eye as Kíli debates approaching him. It's almost endearing, the way he keeps glancing over at them like Monster won't notice, fighting an internal battle that he unconsciously broadcasts across his face. His mouth twists in a silent, one-sided conversation, and his eyebrows furrow deeply every few moments in response to the counterarguments he must be presenting to himself.

After several long minutes in which Monster grows rather uncomfortable, Kíli finally makes a decision. He carefully removes himself from Company and shuffles over to stand beneath Monster and Mandos, looking for a way to navigate his way to the higher ground. He hops about for a bit, much to Monster's amusement, until he can grasp the edge of the loft and awkwardly haul himself up. When he manages to reach them, scrabbling his feet along the wall of a stall beneath him for leverage, he skirts warily around Mandos and comes to sit at Monster's side. Feeling substantially more agreeable with a stomach full of biscuits and honey milk, Monster allows him to do so without complaint.

"Hey," Kíli says when he's settled, legs dangling over the edge of the loft, and Monster chuffs in response. "You look like you're feeling better today. A good night's sleep always does wonders for me too. Ever since we began this crazy quest, we've barely had time to rest, and when we do, we have to lay out on the ground. I swear that every time I wake up, I feel like an old man switched his spine with mine while I was sleeping!"

He laughs, and Monster finds the sound strangely pleasant. It isn't the guttural rattle of Pack, but the low rumble of a summer storm.

"It'll all be worth it, though, when we reclaim our homeland," Kíli continues, a note of something bright in his voice. "It's your homeland too, Erebor. You may know it as the Lonely Mountain. It's where our people used to live, before Smaug."

Monster cocks his head in interest. He is aware of Lonely Mountain, but he does not know it as the home of his kind. _His_ kind come from the greed and lust of savages.

"My uncle is the king," Kíli says proudly. "Once we reclaim Erebor, he'll take the throne and I'll be the next in line." A strange looks crosses his sharp features, and Monster frowns as he attempts to discern it. "I think I will. Maybe not. I suppose that doesn't matter right now. Our main goal is to make it to the mountain and slay Smaug." He pauses. "That's the dragon who took Erebor from us. I forgot to mention that. Anyway, we're kind of stuck right now, without ponies."

Monster doesn't have the heart to tell Kíli he's a terrible storyteller, not that he could if he wanted to. He thinks that it's kind of cute, the way he stumbles over his thoughts and has to double back to include the points he missed. Mandos doesn't agree with him, if the way his lip curls is any indication.

Still, Monster smiles.

 

* * *

 

Kíli loses his breath to that smile. He can't see Fíli's face through the curtain of blond hair hiding it, but that smile is visible, and it is stunning. He can't help but stare, and he finds himself blushing with a wide grin on his own face. Why he feels so drawn to this unique creature, why he wants to ravish him and love him and provide for him, he can't know. It's something deep, primal, like an animal instinct that has lain dormant until Fíli awoke it from its slumber. He wants to obey it.

The warg on Fíli's other side must notice his staring, as he curls his lips back to expose his teeth. Kíli blanches, knowing that the beast could tear him apart in seconds with the slightest provocation, and he thinks that this obstacle will make it harder to get close to Fíli.

"Uh, hey there, big guy," he says awkwardly, unnerved by the threatening snarl and uncomfortably piercing stare.

Big Guy doesn't look impressed, and he turns one ear away in a show of irritation before he hides his face in Fíli's belly. The blond coos over his pet, so doting, and Kíli gets the distinct feeling that the wily mutt is doing this on purpose. He can probably smell Kíli's attraction to Fíli and has taken offense from it, being Fíli's self-appointed guardian. He doesn't want to interfere with what is obviously a remarkable bond, but he wants Fíli so very badly, and there's no way he'll be able to get close enough to make any advances with Big Guy horning in.

Kíli shifts, uncomfortable under the scrutiny of those shrewd black eyes, and yelps when something stabs him in the buttocks. He scowls and pulls out a pocket book on mythology, leant him by Ori in an effort to broaden his horizons. He hasn't even bothered to look at it, disinterested in literary knowledge as he is, but Ori insists he give it a try. He thinks his mother put the scribe up to it.

Out of a simple curiosity, Kíli opens the small book. He lands on the chapter detailing Dwarf beliefs of death and the afterlife, and it's only a second later that a tiny breath ghosts over his ear. He whips around, shocked, to see Fíli has somehow moved much closer, their faces only an inch apart. However, the fighter doesn't startle as he so often does when any of them move too quickly, his intelligent eyes locked onto the page where Mandos, the Doomsman of the Valar, stands tall and proud.

Kíli, blushing fiercely from their close proximity, ignores the heat he can feel rolling off Fíli's body, as well as Big Guy's angry glare, and clears his throat awkwardly. He goes to close the book, but Fíli's hand darts out to catch him by the wrist before he can. The fighter shifts closer and traces a finger over the page before turning his blue eyes to meet Kíli's own brown.

Caught off guard, Kíli can't help but stare. This is the first time he has been able to see those eyes completely unobscured, and it was entirely worth the wait. Smoldering and expressive and so very _blue_ , they steal the breath from his lungs and make his stomach twist into nervous knots. He's overcome by a sudden rush of affection that he thinks has no right to be there, but he doesn't want it to go away.

Fíli is still looking at him, and he taps his finger on the page to remind Kíli of the book.

"That's Mandos," the archer says, and Fíli makes a small sound in the back of his throat before turning his head away.

Kíli shifts to follow Fíli's gaze to where Big Guy lays, ears raised and eyes narrowed at Kíli. He gulps at the warg's threatening look and turns his attention back to Fíli, who blinks owlishly at him.

"He does seem a lot like Mandos," Kíli says lamely, unable to comprehend what is expected of him.

Twisting his lips into a critical little pucker that Kíli wants nothing more than to kiss away, Fíli turns back to Big Guy. He barks, and the beast rises up to his full height and pads over to where they sit together. He lowers his massive head to sniff his charge, making him chuff, and then glares down at Kíli. His piercing gaze softens when Fíli wraps his arms around the thick scruff of his neck, but he still regards Kíli with mistrust.

Swallowing audibly, Kíli looks to Fíli, who points once more at the picture of Mandos. He then catches Kíli's eyes and makes a point of pressing a kiss to his pet's muzzle. Kíli isn't sure if Fíli is trying to convey a message or just make him jealous, but the latter is the result that sticks.

"Mandos," he says, and the warg's ears perk up. Surprised, Kíli repeats himself, "Mandos."

Big Guy turns one ear away in annoyance, but Fíli smiles at him and ducks his head coyly. Kíli's heart flutters again, and he absently wonders if he should be worried for his health because his body keeps behaving in ways it never has before. It's equal parts embarrassing, frightening, and exciting.

"His name is Mandos," Kíli exclaims, and Fíli nods in confirmation. "That's a nice name. It makes me worry what he did to earn it, though."

Fíli doesn't respond in any way, but Kíli has an inkling of how the warg got his name. He keeps quiet, though, much too pleased with his progress to be worried. He feels like he's walking on air, and as he sets the book aside, his fingers brush Fíli's. His brother doesn't flinch away, and Kíli is on cloud nine.

The company begins to move about beneath them, and Kíli somehow manages to rip his eyes away from Fíli's face to look at them. The dwarves begin to trickle from the table, chattering excitedly, while the halfling moves at a more calm pace. He takes up the rear of the pack with Thorin and Dís, who mutter between themselves before rounding up the others.

"Kíli, get down from there," Thorin barks gruffly. His cold blue eyes move to Fíli, and he looks surprised for a moment, as if he forgot that there are in fact _two_ nephews to look after now. "You too, Fíli. We're leaving."

Kíli scrambles to obey while Fíli shrinks away from the demanding tone and casts them all a distinctly mistrustful look. He slinks over to huddle behind Mandos, tucking his legs against his chest in what Kíli thinks is an effort to make himself small. His heart aches at the sudden loss of confidence, and he has never wanted to punch his uncle more.

"Thorin, be nice," Dís scolds, shooting her brother a severe look that he only scowls at in return. "He doesn't understand what's going on." She turns her attention to Fíli and smiles kindly, making his defensive posture soften slightly. "We're leaving now, sweetheart. I know you don't trust us strangers, but we would really like it if you would join us."

Fíli narrows his eyes at a point above her left shoulder, his nose wrinkling in a show of confusion that Kíli finds terribly adorable. He dips his head to touch his forehead to that of Mandos, and the two partners begin a silent conversation consisting only of significant looks that cannot possibly be discerned by the outsiders. Mandos closes the conversation with a threatening glare aimed at every one of them, and the duo stands together.

Equal parts nervous and giddy, Kíli extends a hand to assist Fíli. The blond regards him with a skeptical look and Mandos glares at him over Fíli's head, but Kíli don't back down. Unfortunately, Fíli doesn't accept his aid. He simply leaps down from his perch, followed closely by a triumphant Mandos, and darts out the open door after the others.

Dís shoots her disheartened son a sympathetic look and wraps a heavy arm around his shoulders as she says, "He'll warm up to us. We just have to give him time."

 

* * *

 

Monster bounds past Company and pauses only when he reaches Host and Magic Man, who stand a short distance from a herd of ponies. He approaches the two with caution, and when they look down at him without hostility, he sits on his haunches between them. Mandos stands guard behind him, protecting his back from Company, and Fíli basks in the presence of three trustworthy males.

"Will you be accompanying us, little one?" Magic Man inquires, and his voice is a soothing rumble that reminds him of better days. When he receives a tentative nod in response, he smiles and offers his hand, palm displayed.

Surprised, Monster hesitates before he stretches up to scent the long fingers given to him. They smell of _power_ and _safe_ , and he pauses a moment before he dips his head so the hand rests atop his crown. Magic Man pats his gold hair gently and lightly touches the tip of one pointed ear.

"Thank you," he says, genuine gratitude coloring his voice, and Monster thinks that these strange people will never cease to amaze him.

Company scampers into view at the bottom of the hill, and Monster watches, interested, as they mount their ponies. He has seen these miniature steeds, as well as their full-sized counterparts, ridden before, but not often. Having spent almost all his time since Black-Birth with only Orcs, he is much more familiar with riding wargs.

"You will leave my ponies before you enter the forest," Host says lowly, warningly.

"You have my word," Magic Man replies earnestly.

A flock of crows take to the skies, and Monster easily reads their surprised squawks. He raises his head to inhale the scent of _danger_ , and Mandos bristles behind him.

"We're being watched."

"Yes," Host says gravely, laying a hand atop Monster's head when he begins to trill in alarm. "The Orcs will not give up. They will hunt the Dwarves until they see them destroyed."

"Why now?" Magic Man muses aloud, turning to face Host. "What has made the Defiler crawl from his hole?"

"As I said, the alliance between the Moria Orcs and the Necromancer of Dol Guldur."

"Are you sure?"

"Packs have been seen gathering there," Host confirms, eyes dark and intense. "Each day, more and more come."

"Would you know this sorcerer?" Magic Man murmurs, his back to Company's growing curiosity. "The one they call the Necromancer?"

"I know he is not what he seems. Foul things are drawn to his power." Host pauses briefly until Monster shifts beneath his hand. "Azog pays homage to him."

"Gandalf."

The trio turns their heads to Thorin, while Mandos only swivels his ears around. Monster avoids the king's piercing gaze and leans against Host's leg, willing to show trust if it means escaping Thorin's wrath. The large fingers petting his hair stroke his ears lightly to calm him.

"Time is wasting," Thorin says curtly.

Magic Man holds a hand out to beckon to Monster and turns to make his way down to Company, but before he can, Host interrupts him.

"There is more," he says solemnly. "Not long past, word spread that the dead have been seen walking near the High Fells of Rhudaur."

"The dead?" Magic Man echoes, surprised.

"Is it true?" Host deflects. "Are there tombs in those mountains?"

Monster shifts anxiously as Magic Man looks away, an air of intense contemplation about him. His pale blue eyes are faraway, dreamy even, and Monster thinks that they may have lost the old man's mind to the Fade.

"Yes," Magic Man says after several long moments, and his voice is even despite the gravity of the situation. "Yes, there are tombs up there."

"I remember a time when great evil ruled these lands," Host remarks, "one powerful enough to raise the dead. If that enemy has returned to Middle Earth, I would have you tell me."

"Saruman the White says it's not possible. The enemy was destroyed and will never return."

"And what does Gandalf the Grey say?"

A crow's cry interrupts the low conversation, prompting them to look up to the heavens. The ponies whinny, dancing anxiously on their hooves, and Monster mimics their nervous cries.

"Go now," Host says urgently, eyes darting about, "while you have the light."

Monster tenses and growls low in his chest as a long, thin howl sounds over the neighs of the ponies. Mandos stands to his full height and pushes Host's hand from Monster's head to stand over him, the small body fitting easily beneath his own. He exposes his fangs and keeps his ears in constant motion to detect every tiny sound.

"The hunters are not far behind," Host warns as Magic Man hurries down the slight incline and swings himself up onto a large black stallion.

Monster casts Host one last glance before he follows, bounding between towering trees with Mandos mirroring him step for step. Kíli approaches on a handsome pony and smiles down at Monster, though it is a tight, forced expression.

"Wanna ride with me?" he asks, smelling of _nervous_.

Monster ignores the offer and bolts after Company, easily matching their brisk speed. He hears Kíli follow, the clomping of his pony's hooves loud in the hybrid's oversensitive ears. He wants to block out the cacophony of Company and their steeds, but he can't risk missing a single sound. He knows what is after them, and he does not want to be caught, not again.

 

* * *

 

They make haste across rolling hills of thick green grass that feels lovely beneath Monster's feet. He's exhausted and panting after hours of running, but he can't get enough of the freedom he has been denied for so many decades. He breathes in the fresh air and revels in the stretch and burn of muscles typically used only for fighting and fucking. It is nirvana.

When his sutures threaten to pop and he begins to feel the pain of them once more, Mandos takes the back of his harness in his teeth and lifts him easily from the ground. Monster curls up by instinct and complains loudly, displeased with being treated like a pup. Mandos grants him mercy and swings his charge onto his back, feeling him cling to the thick scruff of his neck.

Monster buries his fingers in Mandos' fur and raises his head high as a darkness grows on the horizon. Spindly shapes begin to form, twisted and hunched together as if hiding from the pure light of the sun. He narrows his eyes to see that the unnerving shadow is a forest, though it appears black and wasted. Its trees are barren and there is an unnatural silence about it, as if no life exists within.

Company slows at the timberline, and Mandos tears to a halt behind them. Monster slides from his back and approaches the entrance of the forest while Company dismounts their steeds and discusses their next move behind him. He stares into the gaping maw of the bloodthirsty beast before him until his vision blurs and something like hysteria licks at the very edge of his mind. This is not a good place.

A sudden sense of ominousness overcomes him. Dread curdles his stomach and all he can smell is _death_ alongside his own _fear_. He doesn't want to enter this place, with its oppressive darkness that promises a slow descent into insanity, but he also doesn't want to be left behind.

Monster presses closer to Mandos and takes his first step into the abyss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kíli's going to get even more awkward, if you can believe it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monster doesn't know why he feels the need to protect Company, but he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written while eating a Lunchable, as all artistic processes should be done.

It has been three moons and they have yet to escape the twisting labyrinth of the wretched woods. The sky is not visible and they are surrounded by an eternal darkness, but he knows time has passed from the cycles of animal activity. He thinks it may be a stretch to make a definite assumption, but there is little else for him to do than interpret his surroundings and relay information to himself.

Company is beginning to grow dim. He can see it in their eyes, hear it in their voices. It is the Sickness, the gradual consumption of one's mind by an animal insanity. He is not affected so much, having been raised into the Sickness and witnessed it at its most potent, but he is still touched. It settles in his marrow.

Monster stumbles over a tree root and his injured leg buckles. He is becoming terribly weak from hunger and thirst. His muscles ache and he is far more warm that he is comfortable with. It is the heat of the Pit, the sweat of a violent mating, the breath of a rabid warg at the nape of his neck. It invades his brain and fills his veins.

Mandos takes the back of his harness in his teeth and gently lifts him from the ground. He carries his partner without complaint, though Monster knows he is beginning to weaken as well. They are all exhausted, Company included, and he longs for the comfort and safety of Host's den. He thinks of biscuits and honey milk and his stomach twists painfully, but it is empty and threatens to expel only acid.

Company pauses to rest once again, the hardy nature of their squat, densely muscled bodies failing them in such brutal conditions. Several are muttering to themselves, lost in an endless litany of thoughts that Monster cannot imagine. His own mind races, caught in a loop of hyperawareness, but it does not feel strange or unfamiliar to him. He wonders if he is Sick as well, or perhaps he was to begin with.

Mandos sets Monster on the ground, and the fighter uncurls slowly, his injured extremities stiff and reluctant to cooperate. The warg immediately sets to work cleaning away the clear fluid that oozes from his wounds, his tongue delicate against damaged tissue. Monster only lays limp against his side, filthy and sweating and so very weary.

"Fíli, child, let me look at you."

Monster cracks his tired eyes open to see the old man - Company's healer, he recalls - standing over him, his pale eyes kind. He shifts to curl closer to Mandos, reluctant to allow a stranger access to his vulnerable wounds, and the dwarf holds his hands out while bowing his head passively. Mandos watches him warily, but does not become hostile, so Monster slowly stretches his injured leg out.

Healer smiles and slowly kneels before him to prod gently at the skin surrounding the ugly gash. It doesn't begin to hurt until he reaches the immediate perimeter where the flesh is thick and swollen, made livid from the pulling of the sutures holding him together. Monster's first instinct is to lash out at the one causing him pain, but he reigns in the urge and instead growls low in his chest to express his discomfort.

"My goodness, I'm sorry, lad," Healer says, and Monster detects genuine apology in his voice. "I'm going to check the stitches, if that's alright. I have to touch them again and it may sting."

Wary, Monster doesn't respond, but Healer takes it as an affirmative. He presses gentle fingertips to each suture until he's made his way to the end of the neat line. He then removes a small handkerchief from his pocket and dabs away the clear liquid gathering at the seam of the wound, his experience showing in his calm, measured movements.

"I thought it to be infection," the old man says, "but this fluid is healthy. Your body is producing it in order to flush out unwanted debris."

Monster knows this. He is not unfamiliar with wounds and the many ways they heal. He could wager that he is perhaps even more experienced than Healer, considering his occupation and how often he frequents the Pit, among other fighting rings. There was once Master to consider as well, who enjoyed long, violent matings, but that is no longer a factor in his survival.

Something like sorrow races down his spine, and Monster makes a small, obscure sound in the back of his throat. Healer must take it for a warning, as he laboriously climbs to his feet and puts a safe distance between them in an effort to relax his young patient. Monster didn't mean it to be taken as such, but it does comfort him to have the unfamiliar hands away from his tender wounds.

However, Kíli quickly takes Healer's place, falling to his knees before Monster with a small smile on his face. He shuffles as close as he can, and Monster allows him to, gradually growing more comfortable with Kíli's desire to be close to him. The lad has not caused him any harm or attempted to mount him, so he has no reason to fear for his safety. Mandos is doing that enough for the both of them, if the way his hackles raise every time Kíli comes near is any indication.

He can tell that Mandos doesn't like Kíli. He finds it strange that his partner has become even more aggressive towards Kíli than Thorin, who Monster finds himself much more cautious around. Thorin has yet to approach him and initiate any sort of close interaction, positive or negative, but Kíli has. Kíli is kind and touches him gently with calloused fingertips, a sensation he has never experienced before Company. He wonders if Mandos thinks the small but comforting displays of trust Kíli offers are feigned. His chest aches unexpectedly at the thought, and he realizes that he has grown somewhat fond of the strange man who makes his heart flutter.

"Fíli," Kíli murmurs, and his brown eyes light up with the name just as they always do. "How are you feeling?"

Monster trills and jerks his chin up briefly. He truly does feel healthy, if not exhausted and malnourished, but those are not unfamiliar to him. He was often in such a state under Master's care, though there were times when he was so terribly wounded that Master was forced to let him rest and provide regular sustenance to speed the healing process along.

Kíli smiles and reaches one hand out, palm displayed. Monster allows him to touch his knee, the most intimate place on which Kíli has laid his hands. It makes something sweet and warm curl low in his stomach, like the delicate brush of long grass on a peaceful summer's day. The soft feeling bewilders him, as he has never experienced it towards anyone but Mandos and Master, but it excites him as well.

"I'm glad you're holding up," Kíli says. "Some of the others are starting to get paranoid and a little loopy. They fear we will be lost in this place forever."

Monster has had similar thoughts. These woods reek of _Black_ and his collar burns against his throat in response to it. He has heard the chattering of wild creatures in the trees, whispering to one another of the prey that walks below them. He has yet to see them save for the movements of vague shadows in the darkness, but he knows they're present and he knows they're hunting. He has heard them complain of their gnawing hunger amongst themselves.

"I'm starting to think they might be right," Kíli murmurs, a note of concern in the deep timbre of his voice. "What if we _are_ trapped here? There are awful creatures in these trees and Elves could be anywhere. I worry we will not see the restoration of Erebor."

Kíli sighs heavily and Monster feels the inexplicable urge to comfort him. He hesitates, battling his instincts, before he reaches out to briefly touch Kíli's fingers with the very tips of his own. It's fleeting, just a quick brush of warm skin, and he pulls away instantly, but Kíli still looks at him with complete awe in his dark eyes. He appears stunned, and Monster realizes that this is the first time he has initiated contact between them.

"Thank you," Kíli says, wide-eyed and earnest. "I like it when you touch me."

Flushing, Monster looks away and attempts to tamp down the shy smile that threatens to take hold of his mouth. He doesn't quite succeed, and he can tell that Kíli has seen the faint twitch of his lips because he grins widely and his own cheeks take on a hint of color. The bashful expression only serves to further endear Kíli to him.

"We must continue," Thorin says, startling the brothers. He stands tall with broad shoulders squared, though his eyes betray his exhaustion.

Company complains, but they still follow their king. Mandos takes Monster by the harness once more and picks him up to settle him on his own feet. Monster leans against him as they trail after the party, their combined footsteps only a faint rustling beneath the thick boughs of the gnarled trees that trap them. He doesn't like being surrounded by the silent sentinels, but he feels safe with Mandos nearby. Company's presence strangely soothes him as well.

"We found the bridge!"

Monster looks up in interest and comes to a halt behind Company. He moves to crouch between Mandos' front legs when the warg sits, his thick tail curling around his haunches to tickle his partner's knees. Monster lifts his arms to hold onto the fur of Mandos' flanks, craning his neck to watch Company approach the broken bridge with caution. A few of them peek ever the edge before pulling away, looking disheartened.

"We could try to swim it."

"Didn't you hear what Gandalf said?" Thorin snaps, brow heavy. "A dark magic lies upon this forest."

Several dwarves frown and begin to exchange agitated remarks. Monster knows they are growing ever frustrated with their failure to pass through the forest without meeting obstacles, but he senses something else is at work, something Black. There is _anger_ in the atmosphere that does not emanate from Company, but attaches itself to them like a leech.

Shifting restlessly, Monster bristles. There is a presence in the air, something powerful and electric that throbs like the beat of his own heart. He raises his nose to it, but detects nothing other than the wretched wood's _Black_ and _confusion_ from one member of Company. He studies them each before his gaze falls on Burglar, who looks to be listening to something. He perks his own ears in an effort to hear as well, but only captures the voices of Company and Mandos' soft breaths.

It is ill, this Presence. It has infected Burglar and taken him beneath its wing, wrapped him in its claws. Monster doesn't know what it is or what intentions it has, but he knows Black when he encounters it, having been born from it as he was. He reaches up to touch his collar and finds the runes searing, feeding off the Black that seethes from Presence like foam from the mouth of a rabid warg. He does not want to be here.

Monster lets out a sharp bark, high and shrill. Company startles at the piercing sound, turning to stare at him with surprise, but he only has eyes for Burglar. He watches with relief as the hobbit is pulled from Presence's grasping claws by his cry and returns to the conscious world. Burglar blinks owlishly and looks at him as well, but Monster just jerks his chin up and cocks his head.

"Fíli," Thorin exclaims, scolding.

Shrinking into Mandos' chest, Monster narrows his eyes, but does not become openly hostile. He knows that Company cannot sense Presence or Black like he can with their weak senses and poor skills of awareness, and so he must protect them from it himself. He can see that they think him strange for his outburst, but he cannot explain to them that Burglar needed him to call out and pull him back from Presence.

He barks again, this time smaller, lower. Thorin scowls at him and waves one hand in an aggressive sweeping motion to warn off any further exclamations, but Monster is not so easily dissuaded. He isn't entirely sure if he should trust Company, but there is a deep-seated urge to protect them, as he has always felt for those who cannot protect themselves. They are unable to sense these obscure dangers and therefore are less capable of combating them, but Monster is Black and knows exactly how to cope with it.

"Fíli, enough," Thorin booms, an obvious command.

Several members of Company exchange sidelong looks, but do not speak up. Only Kíli and Dís, who begin to grow _angry_ , shoot him disapproving glares and take a half-step closer to where Monster sits beneath Mandos.

"Thorin, hush," Dís says, her eyebrows knitting. "He doesn't know any better. Leave him be."

"Maybe he can sense danger," Kíli wonders aloud, watching Monster closely with sharp eyes. "He might be trying to warn us of something."

"If he has something to say," Thorin snaps sullenly, "he should use his words like the rest of us."

Dís swats him upside the head, earning a rather juvenile whine of protest, while Kíli becomes a thundercloud of protective irritation at his side. He approaches Monster and crouches before him despite Mandos' glare, growing ever brave around the beast. He offers a hand, questioning, and Monster reaches out to briefly tap their fingertips together before quickly pulling his arm back.

"I think something is wrong and he knows it," Kíli says, determinedly holding Monster's gaze. "He just can't tell us."

Monster twitches his head to the side and watches Kíli from the corner of his eye, not unlike a startled pony. Company has begun to mill about, _anxious_ , and he feels the sudden urge to herd them all together to better supervise them. He does not trust this place and he desperately wants to escape it, but he isn't sure how.

"Fíli," Kíli whispers, leaning closer to Monster than he ever has before. "You would tell me if you knew something was going to happen, right? You would come to me or one of the others?" He pauses to accommodate a reply, but receives none. "Fíli, do you trust me?"

From sheer surprise, Monster swivels his head around to look at Kíli directly, his blue eyes wide and intense. He does trust Kíli. He isn't sure why, but he holds no reservations about this awkward, silly man. His conditioned response is to always be wary, but his most basic instincts, the ones untouched by Master's cruel hand, gravitate to Kíli.

Slowly, Monster nods, and Kíli's face lights up. His brown eyes sparkle like Others in the night sky and he grins widely, as if Monster has given him some amazing gift. Then again, he thinks, maybe he has.

"I trust you too," Kíli says softly, almost affectionately. "I trust you to tell us if you know something is wrong. We're really out of our element here, but I can see that you're sensing something."

Growing uncomfortable with the sudden jump in intimacy, Monster chuffs and slides out from beneath Mandos' protective frame. He slinks over to sit at Burglar's side, watching him closely for any signs of Presence or its Black influence. Burglar doesn't seem to notice him, and so Monster splits his attention between Burglar and Company, who are scouring the area for other routes across the small river.

Kíli passes Monster, surprising him by patting his blond head as Host had before, and joins in the investigation. He approaches the riverbank and peers over into the murky waters beneath, making Monster shift nervously. Tentatively, he hitches a heavy boot up onto the broken trunk of what he is sure was once a proud tree and leans over the river to snatch up a thick vine.

"These vines look strong enough," he remarks, tugging experimentally on the one he holds.

"Kíli!" Thorin barks in the same tone he used when reprimanding Monster.

However, unlike Monster, Kíli is receptive to the scolding and stands down from his perch. He bows his head briefly and Monster subtly takes several steps closer to keep a better eye on the wily dwarf. His instincts may trust Kíli in general, but he isn't quite sure if he should trust Kíli to watch himself.

"We send the lightest first," Thorin says lowly, glaring at the vines with a blatant suspicion.

All eyes instantly turn to Burglar, who shrinks away from them and complains loudly. Monster watches the proceedings with a vague interest, amused that they seem to have forgotten his presence. He has no doubt that he is the most agile and capable of them all, being made as such, but he does worry that his leg will not support him. It holds fine now, but once the muscles begin to strain, he cannot predict the outcome and may be forced to lock his knee in order to remain mobile.

Taking advantage of Company's distraction, Monster skirts around Kíli to approach the bank of the murky stream and study the vines hanging from the boughs above. They are thick and dry to the touch, but he can also see that they are rather wasted and even brittle in some areas. If the heavy dwarves must make it across, placement is crucial. One misstep could bring the whole network down and plunge them all into the foul liquid beneath.

Monster takes his first step onto the closet vine, calloused feet quickly finding purchase on the rough surface. The branches overhead groan as they are forced to bear his weight, startling Company, but Monster continues on without pause. He balances easily on the swaying vines, reaching out for a handhold only when he comes to a large gap between them. Thick, murky water sits stagnant beneath him, reflecting the whites of his eyes.

Pausing to take in his surroundings, Monster unsheathes his steel claws in case he happens to fall. He doesn't believe he will, as experienced with maneuvering impossible terrain as he is, but as he eyes the vines he must jump to, he thinks that he will need them to secure his hold. If Thorin is correct, these waters are not natural and may have an effect on him, and so he resolves to avoid falling into them. He has had plenty of being changed against his will.

Cautious in the face of unknown dangers, Monster steadies his wounded leg before he leaps to the next vine. He sinks his steel claws into the thick rope of it and swings around to brace one foot against the gnarled body of a neighboring perch. The trees above protest again, but do not buckle beneath his minuscule weight. They only bend to him, lowering him closer to the oily water and allowing him to smell its _Black_ properties.

"Fíli!"

Monster halts to look back at Kíli, who is wringing his hands nervously and watching from the riverbank with wide eyes. Worry and fear is written clearly across his refined features, making Monster's heart flutter madly in his chest. Something in him is terribly pleased by Kíli's concern for him and warms slowly like the embers of a fire.

Crushing the startling thought, Monster crosses the last few vines to the other side of the unmoving river and hops onto the bank. Mandos instantly leaps across the gap of the broken bridge and runs around to join him, nuzzling his partner happily. Monster returns the gesture of affection, wrapping his arms around the warg's neck and burying his face into the soft, thick fur of his chest.

He inhales the comfortingly familiar scent of his most precious companion and feels a sudden sleepiness overcome him. Mandos yawns and Monster mirrors him, mouth opening wide as a breathy sound escapes him. He leans more of his weight against Mandos, causing the beast to drop back heavily on his haunches before sliding to lay down. Monster falls to his own behind and shakes his head violently, trying to throw off the blanket of unconsciousness that slowly wraps itself around him.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Monster barks shrilly to warn Company of the strange spell. He attempts to get to his feet, rolling over onto hands and knees, but a sudden wave of vertigo overwhelms him and forces him back to the ground. He thinks that it's very uncomfortable here, laying among the gnarled roots of ancient trees, and he tries once more to stand, but his body is so very reluctant to cooperate.

Monster blinks slowly, lethargically. His head lolls to the side and he vaguely registers Company awkwardly maneuvering their way across the network of vines. He barks again, weaker this time, but Company must not hear him over the sound of their laborious grunts as they scrabble desperately for the safety of the riverbank. Several of them appear as lethargic as himself, and he fears for their safety.

Steeling his resolve, Monster forces himself to his feet, leaning against Mandos' broad forehead for support. He grits his teeth when his thighs quake and locks his knees to prevent his legs from giving out. He needs to get away from this cursed river, and so he lets out a string of warning barks to hasten Company along.

A flash of white appears to his right and Monster quickly spins to face it. He's hit by the scent of _stag_ and blinks owlishly at the stunning beast that stands several yards before him. It lifts its head to him and shifts, its snow-white coat glimmering in the few rays of moonlight that manage to creep through the boughs overhead. Monster chuffs and jerks his chin in return, earning a snort from the stag. It tosses its head in farewell and turns to disappear into the trees, leaving not a trace of its presence behind.

Heavy boots hit the ground behind him and Monster turns to see that Thorin is the first to make it across the river. His cobalt eyes stare at the trees where the white stag disappeared before they turn to Monster, who meets them bravely.

"What was that?" he demands, but Monster only chuffs in reply.

Thorin opens his mouth, looking like he would very much like to further question him, but a loud splash interrupts him. They turn to see the largest dwarf laying on his back in the water, mouth gaping as a string of content snores erupt from his throat. Monster curls his lip back in distaste and Thorin sighs.

 

* * *

 

It takes six of them to carry Bombur. Kíli wishes he wasn't one of them, but as the future king of Erebor, he is apparently required to slave through hardships as his kin before him. He doubts his ancestors have ever had to carry three-hundred pounds of pure dwarf before, but Thorin insists anyway.

Readjusting his portion of Bombur's weight on his shoulder, Kíli sighs and looks up to where Fíli trots ahead of him, clinging to Mandos' tail. He can't help but smile at the endearing sight, and something warm flutters in his belly. He has grown immensely attached of the wild fighter these past few days, and he thinks that Fíli might be fond of him in return. Fíli hasn't expressed it through grand displays, but with small gestures - smiling, touching his hand, allowing Kíli to sit close by.

Kíli grins goofily, earning a curious glance from his mother to his left. He looks away from her imploring gaze, but his grin doesn't fall. It thrills him to see that Fíli trusts him, doubly so when he knows how terribly difficult it must be for him to make himself vulnerable as trust requires. It makes his heart throb in happiness like it never has before.

Turning his attention back to Fíli, he eagerly memorizes the scarred expanse of the sun-baked skin he can see. He relishes the way that gorgeous gold hair swings about Fíli's tight waist and ogles the equally tight backside as subtly as he can. He tries not to stare, but Fíli commands his attention without even realizing it. With his shockingly blue eyes and long blond hair, Fíli is the pinnacle of their species.

Dís clears her throat and Kíli knows he's been caught once again. He tears his gaze away from the gently shifting muscles of Fíli's back to look at her, schooling his expression into one of innocence. She scowls at him, but it wavers when he bats his eyes comically and soon dissolves into a tiny grin that grows over time. She shoves him with one shoulder, causing the others to complain when Bombur's weight shifts and almost sends him toppling to the ground.

"You're staring again," she says with a knowing look in her eyes, and Kíli flushes in embarrassment. "You are _fond_ of him."

"Am I so obvious?"

"Terribly so."

They share a smile and walk in silence for several minutes. Kíli watches Fíli and Mandos run to the front of the group and Dís watches Kíli. She knows exactly what her youngest son is thinking and she is simultaneously thrilled and scared for him. She knows because she had felt similar things, once upon a time.

"Fíli!"

Kíli and Dís jump at the bewildered call. They, along with the rest of the company, look up to see Thorin has come to a stop. In front of him, Fíli stands frozen, his entire body visibly tense. His head swivels this way and that, his eyes wide with pupils blown. Mandos is in a similar state at his side, his ears raised and his jowls pulled back in an angry snarl.

Fíli looks up to the trees and the canopy falls.

 

* * *

 

Monster throws himself backwards to push Thorin away as a massive form drops from the trees to land with a solid thump on the ground. He barks angrily and shoves Thorin further back, away from the writhing creature that flares its dripping fangs at him. He exposes his own teeth and snarls viciously, but his opponent isn't affected by the display.

He's overwhelmed by the putrid reek of _spider,_ and the trees shake with the weight of the pests. Mandos raises his head and lets loose a howl that makes Company instinctively flinch, but only strengthens Monster's need to eliminate the threats. He ducks his head away as another spider drops from the trees and pulls Thorin down to shield him from the attack.

Mandos easily decapitates the two spiders and darts over to where Monster huddles over a cursing Thorin. He groans low in his throat and tosses his head, one ear laid back and the other perked high. Monster pushes Thorin rudely until he stands and looks ready to push back, but a glare from the she-dwarf prevents him from doing so.

"He was protecting you," she says and Thorin wilts in agreement, but Monster's attention is elsewhere.

He keeps his eyes on the trees, head tilted back and pupils blowing wide. There are dozens of forms suspended from the branches, though he can tell that some of them are only bats. The large, bobbing shadows he detects are what he desperately wants to avoid. Though Company might not know, the spiders are as dangerous as they are ugly. He has seen their poison dissolve a warg from the inside out and he does not want to meet a similar fate.

"Fíli, move," Thorin barks, and Monster yelps in return. "We need to get out of here. _Move_."

When Monster doesn't immediately obey, Thorin boldly takes him by the shoulders and steers him down the vague trail. Mandos growls in warning, but Thorin must think the spiders are their first priority and keeps his broad hands sealed over his scarred biceps. Monster breaks away from the king to please Mandos and comfort himself, then takes off further into the forest to scout ahead. He can't leave Company for long because they cannot track the spiders as well as he can, so he only goes as far as he can before he loses sight of them and then doubles back.

Company is always so slow. He thinks it must be their heavy bodies, which are not built as sleek and compact as his own. He moves much more quickly, much more fluidly, and so he is forced to direct his anxious energy not into running, but into tracking the spiders overhead. They make it easy with their chattering, oily voices that grate on his ears like the scratching of nails on glass. They complain of their hunger and the excitement of the bountiful prey they have stumbled upon.

Growing more nervous with each step, Monster takes to the trees, leaving Mandos on the ground to guard Company. He scours the nearby branches, keeping a close eye on the group below, before he feels comfortable enough continuing on. He works his way down the small trail, sticking to the shadows of the boughs, and soon enough he can no longer see Company, though he can still hear their quiet complaining.

He encounters several spiders, which he slays easily with his steel punch knives. The pests fall heavily to the forest floor, thick juices spewing over the dirt, but he isn't worried about their remains. He's much more concerned with the growing density of the webs that are expertly woven through the tree branches. He can barely avoid touching them, feeling their sticky silk clinging to his bare skin.

This must be the home web, Monster thinks as he carefully maneuvers around a hind's carcass, only half-wrapped in white silk. There are similar bundles hanging from many of the branches, tied into neat little packages for the spiders to consume later. He's sickened by the thought of ending up like that, suspended from the trees and waiting to die, and he desperately wants to get back to Company to escape this disgusting place.

A sudden silence falls over the forest. Monster bristles violently and spins around, almost losing his footing on the branch he stands upon. He starts back towards where he left Company, his heart hammering in the fragile cage of his ribs. It feels as if it will break free, and he wills it to slow lest its deafening beats alert the spiders of his location. He doesn't want to be near these awful creatures, with their many legs and their acidic poison. They make him incredibly uncomfortable, because they have such effective natural weapons that put him at a clear disadvantage.

He smells _Company_ and knows that this is where he left them, but they are not here. He climbs down from his perch and scours the ground, but only finds deep footsteps and claw marks that tell him there was a struggle. He presses his nose into the dirt and detects a weak trail leading toward the home web he just departed. His instincts tell him to abandon Company and find a way out of the situation, but he can't. As much as the strange little people discomfort him sometimes, he won't leave them, and especially not Mandos, to the mercy of the vile pests that roam the trees.

Monster grits his teeth in frustration and doubles back, growing angry with the spiders' silly games. He doesn't want to be in this wretched place anymore and he's going to get out of it if it kills him. They haven't experienced a force like Monster before, but they will.

 

* * *

 

He skirts around the home web this time and takes a position in higher branches. He stalks his prey, easily evading patrolling units until he comes upon a collection of spiders dutifully hanging wriggling cocoons. The creatures chatter amongst themselves, pleased with their haul and excited to gorge themselves. He eavesdrops until the last bundle is carefully secured and the spiders begin to creep away, apparently having other jobs to do before they may partake in their meal.

One remains behind. It dawdles until its kin have disappeared into the trees, then turns its attention to a particularly angry-looking cocoon. It prods at the squirming bundle and hisses in excitement, extending its long, curved fangs that leak poison from their deadly tips. Monster begins his descent as quickly as he can without being detected, his steel claws allowing him to navigate the branches safely.

The spider flares its fangs and leans in close. Monster prepares to make the leap onto the beast, but before he can, a blade materializes from the cocoon and pierces the beast's tender underbelly. It squeals and skitters back, alarmed, and the cocoon splits open to reveal Burglar, who looks rather stunned by the situation.

Monster freezes to avoid being detected, though he remains ready to pounce if necessary. He watches as Burglar slashes at the spider with very little grace, inexperienced with weapons, but ultimately succeeds in killing his opponent. Its body breaks through the floor of the web and disappears into the darkness below, leaving no trace behind.

Burglar sighs in relief, but his victory is short lived. The spider's carcass destroyed several supporting boughs and weakened the structural integrity of the nest. The movement of one large foot breaks the precarious balance and sends him tearing through the web, following the spider. He shouts and reaches out for a handhold, but he breaks straight through.

Reacting quickly, Monster drops from his perch. He grabs Burglar by the back of his trousers at the same time he wraps a hand around the closest branch, attempting to prevent their deaths at the forest floor below. He cries out as his shoulder strains in its socket, almost completely dislocated by the force of stopping Burglar's descent. He struggles to hold their combined weight, arms shaking, but the terrified beating of Burglar's heart in his ears spurs him on.

Inhaling a ragged breath, Monster manages to swing Burglar onto a neighboring branch. The hobbit scrabbles for a hold and clings to his perch, panicked. Monster lifts himself up onto his own branch and holds his throbbing shoulder, willing away the aching pain.

"Fíli," Burglar breaths, his brown eyes wide. "You saved me."

Monster leans forward to touch Burglar's hand briefly before climbing up to the branch above. He looks down and trills, calling his companion, and there's only a moment of hesitation before Burglar follows him. He keeps a close eye on their progress, making sure neither of them is likely to fall, and they reach the home web in moments.

Burglar brandishes his blade and Monster his steel claws. They set about freeing the captured Company, carefully cutting open the thick cocoons they're ensconced in. Dwarf by dwarf, they work their way through the web until every head is accounted for. Kíli is the last to be released from his silk prison, and he shocks Monster by pulling him into a brief but crushing hug.

"I thought they had gotten you too," he says into Monster's blond hair.

As quickly as the embrace began, it is over. Part of Monster longs for the comforting warmth of Kíli's arms, but he doesn't dare initiate contact. The hug caught him off guard and frightened him. It was nice, though, in an unfamiliar way. It was nice in the way that all of Kíli's touches are nice.

There's a short bark from below and Monster looks through the large hole in the web to see Mandos peering up at him. He wags his tail happily and dances in place, nervous with his partner so far away. Monster chuffs and herds Company down to the ground where Mandos is waiting, supervising their descents. He remains in the trees to keep an eye out for other spiders, as they're bound to realize their prey has disappeared very soon.

Company makes quick progress through the forest, running as quickly as their heavy bodies and short legs will allow. They continuously look over their shoulders, made paranoid, but when they see Monster tailing them, they cease their frantic searching. Monster aches at the massive display of trust.

Mixed scents reach him, making him bristle. Monster hastens his pace and moves deeper into the shadows to remain hidden. He spots a spider in the trees ahead, quickly making its way towards the ground. Its long, slender legs easily maneuver their way through the branches, giving it a slight advantage over Monster and allowing it to reach Company first.

Adrenaline pumping, Monster makes to take the creature down, but a swift form beats him to it. He recoils in alarm as a long, pale streak mounts the spider and crushes it into the ground, breaking its fragile legs and reducing it to nothing more than a mode of transportation.

 _Elf_ , Monster realizes with a start. He sinks into the shadows, even as the man gracefully brandishes his bow and cocks an arrow directly at Thorin's forehead. He creeps through the trees, eyes dilated and mouth open to catch the barrage of scents that close in on them. There must be a dozen elves, tall and pale and so very out of place in this wretched abomination of a forest. They carry bows and quivers full of perfectly crafted arrows with heads sharp enough to pierce flesh and bone.

He cannot eliminate this threat. There are too many of them and they have an advantage over him with their long-range weapons. If he makes himself known in any way, they will be able to pick him off before he has time to reach Company. Instead, he locates a single elf who stands slightly away from the rest, closer to the shadows than his comrades.

Monster stalks the elf. He carefully works his way down the tree and onto the branch closest to his prey, hanging just overhead. He waits for just the right moment before he lashes out, sinking his punch knives into the elf's tender throat. He opens his mouth to alert his companions of danger, but Monster wraps his steel-tipped fingers around his jaw to prevent the cry from escaping. He slowly lowers the man's rapidly weakening body to the ground, holding him by the scruff of the neck. He waits until the panic in those pale green eyes fades away and the elf goes suddenly limp in his arms.

Carefully paying his respects, Monster removes the bow and arrows from the corpse. He has only used such a weapon on several occasions, but he thinks he can still do plenty of damage. Ideally he would be able to kill all the elves so Company may escape, but right now all he can hope to do is weaken them and join Mandos in finishing them off.

The fighter climbs back into the tree and takes a seat deep in the shadows. He experimentally cocks an arrow and pulls the bowstring taut, aiming it at a bold spider silently creeping up behind Company. The weapon feels unfamiliar and almost awkward in his hands, but as he releases the arrow and sees it find its mark directly between his target's many eyes, he thinks that it will do just fine.

The elves jump and swivel their heads this way and that, searching for the source of the attack. A redheaded she-elf bravely approaches the spider's corpse and removes the arrow from its head, studying it critically.

"It is one of ours," she says, and her kin relaxes once again. They return to divesting Company of their weapons, but she keeps her eyes on the trees, ever wary.

Monster almost smiles. The spider is one thing, as it made him appear to be an elf protecting his own, but they will not think it so simple if their own kind begins to fall. There is no safe way for him to go about this, and so he does all he can and fires off several arrows in quick succession. He manages to take down three elves before the atmosphere explodes into chaos.

"Find it!" White One booms, his refined features twisted into an ugly grimace reminiscent to that of an angry orc. "Find the archer!"

Mandos takes advantage of the distraction to sink his teeth into the elf guarding him. He rips away the woman's throat and turns on her comrades to do the same. Blood sprays across the forest floor and arrows fly in an attempt to stop the warg. Mandos evades them, dodging by instinct, and escapes into the trees.

"After it!"

Only three elves take off into the trees as ordered, moving in graceful leaps and bounds. Though they are swift, Monster knows that Mandos will be able to lose them. Elves may be fast, but Mandos is faster and is a predator by birth and blood. So long as he can avoid the arrows, he will survive and perhaps even find his way out of this awful place. Still, Monster worries.

The hybrid shifts on his haunches and watches the lead elf pace angrily. His white-blond hair is a curtain about his face, and when he lifts his head once again, it pulls away to reveal an agitated snarl. He waves Thorin's own blade in the king's face, threatening.

"What was that?" he snaps, but Thorin remains stubbornly silent. He points the blade at the rest of Company and still receives no answer. "Was that one of yours?"

Frustrated, the elf sheathes the blade in his belt and takes his bow in hand. His shrewd blue eyes scan the trees, moving over Monster several times. When his attention is averted, Monster slowly cocks his last arrow and raises the bow. The elf's gaze passes him once more, but not for long. He catches Monster's eyes and his own go wide with shock before narrowing.

"There!" he shouts, and Monster's arrow sprouts from the tree to his left.

Monster instantly abandons his perch as several elves race to his location. He drops to the ground to evade a half-dozen arrows that brush his skin so closely his heart jumps. A sharp pain rockets through his arm as one finds its mark in his shoulder, but he rips it out with little hesitation.

He comes to stand before Company with his steel claws extended and the stolen bow held out before him. He cocks the bloodied arrow and points it at White One, willing his arms to cease their quaking. The adrenaline coursing through his veins is beginning to fade, making him shaky and disoriented. He must eliminate these threats soon before he loses his energy.

"What are you?" White One says, surprised. "These stripes upon your skin - they are unnatural."

Monster growls deep in his chest and flexes his shoulders, feeling the burn of the wound in the right. He exposes his teeth and watches warily as White One dares to take a step closer, glaring down at him with intelligent eyes. He releases his last arrow out of instinct and takes some pleasure when White One grunts as it grazes his face, splitting open his cheek. The elf raises a hand to the wound and sneers at him.

"Wretched beast," he says lowly and swings Thorin's blade.

Tossing the useless bow aside, Monster dodges the attack and extends his claws. He spins to slash at White One, but his opponent is quick and gets away with only a tear in his robes. Monster follows closely with his punch knives, aiming for White One's knees and hoping to cripple. The elf throws himself aside and rolls away, pulling a dagger from his belt.

Monster regains his footing and launches a powerful right hook, catching White One in his wounded cheek and sending him sprawling. He brandishes his punch knives and goes in for a second blow, but White One strikes him in the chest with one long leg. The sheer force behind the kick stuns him and throws him back into Company, knocking the very breath from his lungs.

Thorin catches him and moves to pull him back into the safety of their numbers, but Monster is relentless. He was created to kill and trained to never give up, even if he is losing. He will die before he allows these elves to take Company.

Squirming out of Thorin's hold, Monster charges White One. The elf braces himself and rolls with the tackle, causing both of them to lose their breath as they land heavily upon the ground in a tangled heap. Monster tears at White One's arms when they grab him and sinks his teeth deep into one long, elegant hand. He almost manages to remove several fingers, but White One recoils away from him before he has the chance, throwing him aside.

He hears Kíli call out to him, frightened and desperate, but it's quickly drowned out by his own shriek as an arrow buries itself in his left forearm. It sinks straight through and pins him to the ground, sending instinctual panic flowing over him in waves. He struggles violently and manages to pull the head from the dirt, allowing him to scramble away just in time to avoid a second arrow that was sure to pierce his heart. He falls to his front and looks up to meet Kíli's wide brown eyes.

A heavy boot slams into his teeth and the world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this might be a little bit of a rebellion against [FiliKiliThorinForever](http://archiveofourown.org/users/FiliKiliThorinForever/pseuds/FiliKiliThorinForever), who destroyed my soul with the latest chapter of [The Phoenix in the Watchtower](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3338429/chapters/7301279). I knew something fucking crazy was going to happen in there, but I wasn't sure what and now that I do know I'm not entirely sure what to do with myself. I'll probably just wallow in misery for a good long while until the next chapter comes out. ;A;


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn't easy to deny the Elvenking, but Thorin does it anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi c':

Kíli struggles in his bonds, desperate to escape. He can see Fíli quickly weakening, and he knows the elves do as well. The remaining rangers swiftly scale the trees and draw their bows, keen eyes set on eliminating the threat. One arrow pierces his forearm, cutting easily through flesh and meat to pin him to the ground, leaving him vulnerable. Fíli's cry is one of animalistic terror.

He wants to look away, but he can't. Kíli watches his brother struggle with a violent desperation and feels nothing but rage and sorrow roiling in his stomach like curdled milk. He fights his own restraints with renewed energy and shouts for Fíli as he finally pulls the arrow from the dirt and scrambles away just in time to avoid the killing blow. A second arrow sinks into the earth, missing its mark by only a hair's breadth.

Fíli looks up and their gazes briefly meet. Desperation makes those blue eyes burn like the deepest pits of a forge, and Kíli is breathless. He hates the red flush he finds there, the hint of despairing tears hanging on the very edge of Fíli's lower lashes. He wants to brush that wetness away and kiss those split lips until they smile.

At his side, Dwalin, in a rare moment of complete loss, kicks his leg out the moment Fíli is within range. He thinks he calculates his strength carefully enough, but Fíli's entire frame is still thrown back by the force of the blow to his face. The fighter's eyes go wide for a fraction of a second before they fall closed and his skull drops heavily to the ground. His body goes instantly limp and lies prone before them, blood dripping from between his parted lips.

"Dwalin!" Dís exclaims shrilly, voicing their collective horror.

"He was going to keep fighting until they either knocked him out or killed him," the warrior hisses, shooting a fleeting glance at their captors. "I assume we don't want to lose the prince a _second_ time."

Dís locks her jaw with an audible click, but she still makes a point of shooting him a withering glare. Her heart calls out for her helpless child, and she wants nothing more than to escape her bonds and gather the tiny body up in her strong arms. Longstanding friendship be damned, she hates Dwalin a little for purposefully hurting her baby so ruthlessly.

The wood elves watch them with suspicion, and Kíli nudges his mother in the ribs to get her attention. She turns her glare on him before noticing the obscure stares of their captors. Pale eyes narrow and study them shrewdly, picking apart their whispered conversation. She can see they don't understand why they turned on their fellow dwarf.

Legolas makes an aggressive sweeping motion with his injured hand, sneering at them. He frankly doesn't care what the trespassers are muttering about because he was only tasked with capturing and delivering them to his father, nothing more. He wasn't expecting to lose most of his rangers and almost several of his fingers to a wild child he didn't even know was living out here in these wretched woods.

"Let's go," Legolas snaps, glaring down at Fíli's unconscious body as he clutches his bleeding fingers.

"What about that thing?" one of the remaining rangers inquires as the two others recover the dead bodies of their comrades.

"We'll take it with us."

"It looks like it carries disease," Tauriel says, her lip curling in distaste. "We should put it down."

Kíli sets his mouth in a wicked slash to refrain from saying something he'll regret. Something inside him screams to protect Fíli, to punish these imbeciles who threaten Fíli, but he doesn't obey. It will do them no good to give into the heat of the moment and will even further exacerbate the situation.

"Just grab the little beast," Legolas commands coldly. "My father may be interested in it."

The march continues on and Kíli seethes as he watches a ranger grab Fíli by the back of his harness and carry him as if he is only a sack of rubbish. Rage bubbles up deep in his gut and threatens to spill over in a wave of thick, churning acid. He can't stand to see his brother handled so carelessly. Fíli is the most precious thing the gods have to offer this world and they're treating him as if he is a diseased dog. He wants to destroy these fools one by one and present their hearts on a gold platter for Fíli to enjoy.

Startled, Kíli detaches from his anger in an instant. For all his hotheaded impulses, never once has he thirsted so strongly for blood. The desire to defend Fíli is frightening in its strength, and a small part of him expresses such sadistic affection for Fíli that he is sure the urge stems from it. He doesn't want to feel such things, such disgusting anger, but _Fíli_. For Fíli, he will do anything.

Kíli is broken from his racing thoughts by a large hand roughly pushing him forward. He glares up at the ranger, who returns the look with equal distaste, and reluctantly follows after the rest of the company. They're organized into a single-file line and marched deeper into the woods, stewing in a cloud of righteous fury.

The darkness soon gives way to a gentle amber light. Despite the dire situation, the dwarves raise their faces to the sun and bask in its comforting warmth. After days of eternal midnight, its shining smile is a very welcome change. However, the towering gates before them are something they desperately wished to avoid on their journey.

"Thorin, what do we do?" Dís whispers fiercely.

"We need to get Fíli," Kíli adds, vehement.

"Hush," Thorin hisses, shooting a glare over his shoulder.

They walk in a bitter silence through the cavernous kingdom. The unparalleled beauty of the place is lost on Thorin, withdrawn as he is, and he remains stubbornly unresponsive to his environment until they reach a massive throne room occupied by a handful of wood elves. Thorin is pulled to a stop and the rangers become statues around him, stiff and ramrod straight. Legolas is only slightly more relaxed as he faces his king.

"Father," he greets, bowing deeply. "We have captured the dwarves."

"They injured you."

"Not them."

Legolas waves one of his men over, signaling for Fíli to be brought forward and presented. The ranger holds him up like an offering, his minuscule body dangling limp by his leather harness. He's so deeply unconscious that doesn't so much as flinch when he's jostled.

"We encountered an unexpected variable," Legolas says, suddenly uncomfortable. "It was incapacitated, but not before it took a bite out of me attempting to protect the dwarves."

Thranduil eyes his son, from the deep gash marring his cheek to the brutal bite wound that looks to have almost cost him several fingers. He turns his cold blue stare to Thorin, who glares right back at him without hesitance, his heavy brown drawn and tense.

"Leave the beast and its master to me," Thranduil says, gaze locked firmly with Thorin's own.

Shooting his father a bemused look, Legolas bows once more and says, "As you wish."

He waves one hand and the rangers push the company forward, all save for Thorin. The other dwarves protest as they're separated, primarily Kíli, who twists around in his bonds to glare warily at his uncle. Thorin, knowing exactly what Kíli expects of him, watches the proceedings with an obscure look in his dark eyes until his companions disappear and their shouts fade into silence.

Almost smugly, Thranduil smiles and says, "Thorin Oakenshield."

Thorin grits his teeth to refrain from lashing out. He curls his hands into fists and imagines Thranduil's swanlike neck is being crushed between them.

"You've an interesting new addition to your company," the elf-king notes plainly, looking down at Fíli's body laid out across the stone floor.

"It followed us," Thorin says gruffly, eyeing Fíli with distaste. "A right nuisance, it's been."

"Is that so?" Thranduil inquires with interest, and Thorin nods resolutely. "You wish to refute my son's claim that it attempted to rescue you from my rangers?"

Thorin only shrugs, carefully schooling his features into a convincing expression of nonchalance.

"We made the mistake of feeding it."

Thranduil narrows his eyes and cocks his head thoughtfully. His long white hair falls in a thick curtain over his shoulders as he crouches by Fíli, fine silk robes pooling on pristine stone floor. He breaks the deadlock of their glares to look down at the unconscious dwarf, regarding him with something like curiosity.

"You think I don't see what you're doing?" he murmurs with a tiny smile that curdles Thorin's stomach. "I know very well of this little _monster_. In fact, I have lost many coins on him. However, I have not received the pleasure of seeing him up close until now."

Thorin watches in despair as graceful fingers card gently through long gold hair before becoming suddenly brutal. Thranduil wrenches Fíli's lolling head back to expose his tender throat and leans in to brush his mouth over Fíli's vulnerable jugular, feeling the rapid flutter of his heart beneath his lips. How easily he could extinguish this life.

"I suppose this is my chance to earn those coins back," he remarks, quirking one critical eyebrow and smiling a dark, sultry smile.

Despite his disgust, Thorin remains stubbornly silent. Thranduil watches him for several more moments, entertaining himself with twisting a lock of Fíli's long hair around one finger, but soon grows bored and releases the lolling blond head. Fíli's skull cracks dully against the floor, but he still doesn't stir.

"Take the child away," he orders, causing a duo of sentinels to his left to snap to attention. "Bathe him. I will not have him bringing disease."

The rangers bow deeply and haul Fíli up from the floor by his harness, more careful under Thranduil's watchful eyes. They begin their trek down the winding catwalks that twist throughout the kingdom, heading in the opposite direction of where the other dwarves were taken. Thorin attempts to watch their progress from the corner of his eye, but it only takes a moment for Fíli to disappear with his captors into the strengthening evening.

Before him, the Elvenking smiles.

"Some may imagine that a noble quest is at hand, a quest to reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon," Thranduil says, straightening to his full height, commanding attention. "I myself suspect a more prosaic motive: attempted burglary, or something of that ilk." He leans in close, studying Thorin with all-knowing eyes. "You have found a way in. You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule, a king's jewel -- the Arkenstone. It is precious to you beyond measure. I understand that. There are gems in the mountain that I too desire, white gems of pure starlight. I offer you my help."

Thorin smiles slowly, coldly, and says, "I am listening."

"I will let you go," Thranduil continues, "if you but return what is mine."

"A favor for a favor."

"You have my word, one king to another."

Thorin turns away, feeling something tight and heavy settle in the center of his chest. It is a loaded offer, and not one to be taken lightly. With the backing of the wood elf kingdom, he would have a much greater chance of bringing down the orcs and reclaiming Erebor. Thranduil is an exceedingly valuable ally to have.

But he betrayed them once, long ago. What is stopping him now from doing it a second time? A handful of gems hidden away in the belly of a dragon? No, these creatures are deceitful ones. If Thorin lets them in again, lets them curl long, clever fingers around his windpipe, they will bring him to his end. Now is not the time for friendship.

"I would not trust Thranduil, the great king, to only his _word_ til the end of all _days_ be upon us!" Thorin roars, whipping around to fix the elf with an accusatory finger. "You lack all honor! I have seen how you treat your _friends_. We came to you once -- starving, homeless, seeking your help -- but you turned your back. _You_ turned away from the suffering of _my people_ and the inferno that destroyed us."

Something changes in Thranduil's blue eyes. It sends a spark of fear racing down Thorin's spine, but he holds his stoic mask firm, even as the elf leans in close.

"Do not talk to _me_ of dragon fire. I know its wrath and ruin," Thandruil hisses, and as his face melts away between one second and the next, Thorin smells burnt flesh. "I have faced the great serpents of the North."

Thorin watches with narrow eyes as Thranduil marches up the stairs to his throne, the glittering sheen of his robes catching just right beneath the dying sunlight. He did the right thing, rejecting the Elf king's aid, even if it feels like a mistake in this moment.

"I warned your grandfather of what his greed would summon, but he would not listen. You are just like him." Something like a smirk crosses Thranduil's lips so briefly that it may have only been a trick of the light. "Stay here if you will and _rot_. A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf."

Struggling against the vise-like hands that grab his biceps, Thorin glares at him with hateful eyes.

"I'm patient," Thranduil calls kindly. "I can wait."

* * *

 Monster startles awake at the touch of a cold hand on his hip. Long fingers wrap entirely around his thighs and biceps to keep him still, and he instinctively begins to panic. He thrashes against the steely vises, but his captors only lean their greater weight on him to pin his prone body to the cold, solid surface upon which he lays.

The elves swiftly divest him of his hidden weapons, but don't bother with his harness. They then tug at his smalls, the only thing protecting him from any sexual advances, and Monster cries out in protest. He clamps his thighs closed defensively and twists his shoulders harder in one last attempt to escape.

A hand grabs him by the harness and throws him from the bench. He's dragged across the unforgiving stone floor, writhing and clawing, but his protests have little effect. The second elf only watches him impassively as his comrade pulls him towards certain doom, his pale eyes cold in the face of his terror. He can't decide if this attitude is better or worse than that of Pack.

Monster kicks his legs as he's lifted easily from the floor and made to look into the angular visage of his captor. He wails shrilly and raises his arms to clutch at the guard's, sinking his nails into the soft cotton of his sleeve. He throws a foot out, but the difference between their statures means his attempted blow falls too short and he's left hanging completely helpless.

The elf suddenly releases him and Monster's back breaks water. Shocked, he opens his mouth to cry out, but hot liquid instantly pours down his throat and spills into his body, suffocating his scream. He thrashes and kicks desperately towards the light, laryngeal cords constricting and stomach flooding with water, but only manages to latch onto the lip of the container he was dropped into. He pulls his head from beneath the surface with a rasping keen, sopping hair plastered to his skin and body convulsing as it attempts to expel the unwanted fluid invading its systems.

Water sloshes over the edge of what he now recognizes as a natural hot spring, tediously carved into the stone by time. He scrabbles helplessly at the slick floor, attempting to pull himself from the pool, but a heavy boot stomps down on his fingers, shattering tiny bones. He's pushed back under by a palm on his crown, its superior strength holding him in place even as he struggles violently against it.

His vision begins to go grey, and his stomach is filled with so much water that he feels bloated. He attempts to breathe by reflex, the steely vice of involuntary laryngospasm relaxing ever so slightly, but only succeeds in sucking down another mouthful of water. His frantically pounding heart burns like hellfire in his chest.

Hands grab him by his hair, harness, flesh, and yank him from the spring. He's dropped unceremoniously onto the floor like a discarded towel, bruised and aching in places deep, deep, deep inside him. Every fiber of his being hurts, tissue shocked by oxygen deprivation.

Monster inhales a ragged breath, but he has only a split second to relish it before his body tenses and he begins to retch. A sickening cocktail of hot water and gastric acid races up his throat and spills across the floor in a messy splatter, making the elves step back in disgust. He gulps in partial lungfuls of air between each painful convulsion, sometimes aspirating in his desperate attempt to draw a decent breath.

Even when his stomach is empty, Monster continues to heave, this time with painful coughs that shake his entire frame. Water is laboriously pulled from his flexing lungs by the arrhythmic convulsions, trickling from his nose and mouth alongside a viscous mucus tinged pink with blood. He has not felt a pain quite like this in many moons.

"It's still filthy," one guard says, his tone alight with disgust.

His companion snorts in derision and grabs Monster by the harness, lifting him easily from where he kneels on the floor in his own vomit. He instinctively curls up, an impressive feat considering the massive coughs still rattling between his ribs, and reaches up to cling to the forearm holding him suspended when the pressure of his harness against his chest prevents his weakened lungs from fully inflating. The elf shakes him roughly to dislodge his grasping fingers and holds him at arm's length as he strides back towards the bench.

"It's fine," the ranger insists, dropping Monster carelessly onto the unforgiving stone. "It's only going in the dungeons anyway."

"Thranduil will not be pleased."

"Worrywart."

" _Appropriately_ so."

Monster tunes out their bickering in favor of attempting to calm the painfully frantic pounding of his heart. His tongue feels thick in his mouth as he moves it, bloody mucus clinging nauseatingly to his taste buds, and his breathing sounds strange in his own ears, as if there is still fluid in his lungs. He coughs again at the thought alone.

"Come. I'm growing weary of its presence."

"Grab it, then."

" _You_."

Suddenly, a massive hand takes him by the harness and he's airborne once again. Monster curls up, still shaking with sickness and hating himself for his inability to disguise his uncontrollable terror. He's entirely helpless, like a runt warg pup unable to even nurse at his mother's teat, slowly withering away until he's nothing more than a quivering sack of marrow and pestilence.

His vision fades in and out as he is led to his fate, be it death or otherwise. His ears capture the warbling of his captors' voices, but his brain doesn't register any of it until it's shocked by the shriek of metal.

Monster cracks his bloodshot eyes open as the rangers pry open a wide barred door, not unlike those in the Goblin King's dungeons and kennels. It protects a long, narrow hallway lit by a single burning sconce on the wall to their right. The flickering light it casts reveals a tiny window to looks into patch blackness, and as they come closer, Monster realizes the window is set in a solid steel door at the very end of the corridor.

It is a small room, no bigger than the kennels in the Pit, and furnished only with a single bedroll and a brass chamber pot. He's shoved rudely inside and the door slams closed behind him, metal scraping as the lock bolts securely. He twists around and watches the two elves walk back down the hall and draw a second gate behind them to further separate them from their unpredictable captive. He would be flattered by the precautionary measures if he wasn't so frightened.

Monster spends several minutes simply listening to the hushed conversation of his listless sentinels before he begins to explore his new chambers. It takes a very short while to do so considering the size of the space and the age of the faded scents, so it isn't long before he finds himself idle. Normally he would enjoy a break from activity, but it is not right here, and so he finally chooses to distract himself by bundling his wet body up in the wool blanket he finds sprawled on the bedroll and settles down for the time being.

Curled up alone in the tiny chamber, Monster is cold. He forces himself into a light doze that slowly grows deeper as he comforts himself with thoughts of warmth. His mind turns to Master, who he thinks of with a reluctant adoration that does very little to comfort him anymore. Master is not going to come to save him from the fate that has been decided for him, and so he must let go of the hope that he will.

He thinks of Mandos next, of his soft fur and protective presence. He is warm at first, but then knows only cold terror because Mandos is gone, being hunted somewhere out in that Black forest. He tries to soothe himself by picturing Mandos escaping the wretched woods and running straight to Host's den where he is safe, but it provides little peace. Despite the trace optimism, he fears Mandos is dead.

Kíli is his final thought before he falls asleep. He imagines gentle fingers on his own bruised ones, a broad palm cradling his broken hand. He feels phantom arms wrap around him, pulling him tenderly against a barrel chest that's so very warm beneath layers of wool and leather. Chapped lips press to the shell of his ear and whisper promises of love and security.

He allows himself to believe them, if only for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am trash c':


End file.
